


Uncharted

by Ripki



Series: Atlas of Our Ruin [3]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Breaking marriage, Canon Divergence - Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith, Complicated Relationships, Falling In Love, Force Bond (Star Wars), Friends to Lovers, Galactic Road Trip, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Prophetic Dreams, Sharing a Bed, Slash, Slow Burn, Unresolved Sexual Tension, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-02-07 21:22:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 57,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21464734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ripki/pseuds/Ripki
Summary: Sometimes honesty bears strange fruit, both wondrous and bitter. Even as Anakin’s marriage to Padmé unravels, his relationship with Obi-Wan develops into something neither men could have ever expected. While fighting never ending war with the Separatists and trying to solve the mystery of the holocron, the Team has to also make peace with their own secret fears and wants.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker, Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker
Series: Atlas of Our Ruin [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1088748
Comments: 745
Kudos: 1122





	1. Praadost II

**Author's Note:**

> Dear readers! Here is finally the sequel to _In Time_ and _Adrift_. While those first two stories can be read as gen, this one is very much the beginning of Anakin's and Obi-Wan's romantic and sexual relationship. So slash ahoy :) As this is a work in progress, the tags and warnings may change.

The hot, humid air enveloped Anakin in a suffocating cocoon, dampened his clothes and hair, mingled with the beads of sweat on his forehead. He chanced a change of position as the ache in his leg muscles intensified into burning pain; he had been crouching too long, motionless, in the shelter of thick canopy of green leaves. Anakin wiped his brow, but the action was more of a habit than anything that brought real relief to his discomfort. 

From a small spy hole in the thicket, he had a perfect view of the sprawling military encampment erected on the sloping hillside. Waiting had never been his strong suit and after whole morning and most of the afternoon spent fruitlessly watching the Separatist camp, Anakin hoped they would start to mount their attack – or do _anything_ interesting at all – already. The sooner the Seps left their base to begin their assault on Obi-Wan’s troops, the quicker Anakin’s party could wreak merry havoc onto the enemy camp. However, the lack of Separatist action implied that Obi-Wan seemed to be an insufficient bait – something that surely had to be a first in all the years Anakin had known him. 

A low grunt sounded behind him, and Anakin glanced over his shoulder. One of the troopers from the Echo squad had managed to hit his back against a huge insect-ridden tree trunk, and was now frantically slapping the stinging insect horde off him even as the rest of the troops watched on, grinning silently at their flailing comrade. Anakin’s lips twitched in amusement and he almost smiled, but instead he settled for a dark scowl that sobered the squadron immediately. It would not do to give the game away because of an aversion to bugs. 

He missed his own men. Rex and his trusted squadron leaders knew how Anakin operated; his troops followed him without question anywhere. Through the heavy years and countless bloody battles, they’d been welded into a formidable fighting force, comrades who fought and jested and died together. Anakin’s brothers had already been shipped to another engagement on the Outer Rim, while Anakin was still stuck on Praadost. These men around him were good men, but they weren’t _his_. 

Anakin wanted to join the 501st as soon as possible and yet…he had to get back to Coruscant first. It had been almost three weeks since Anakin had landed the damaged shuttle on Praadost II, his hopes of speedy return to the capital almost immediately dashed. Since they had arrived so conveniently in the middle of a hard-fought battle between the Seps and the much depleted 26th regiment, the High Command had ordered them to take command of the weary troops and hold off the superior enemy force until much needed reinforcements arrived. 

And so, Anakin and Obi-Wan had gone to work, although some dour fossils of the GAR would no doubt claim that their tactic of “selective offensive” was hardly the same as holding off behind the established perimeter. But more often than not, in Anakin’s opinion, a best defence was a bold offence, and baiting the Seps to attack half their troops with Obi-Wan ready to lead them on a futile chase, while Anakin sneaked behind their back to raid and ravage the enemy’s supplies and weaponry, was not just common sense – it was fun. Or it would have been, if those kriffing sleemos just had the courtesy to take the frakking bait!

Perhaps after the enemy encampment had been rendered inoperational, the engagement on Praadost would be close to an end. And maybe then, Anakin could return to Coruscant, if only for a day, just to see Padmé again and tell her all that was in his heart. It had been over four weeks since their terrible falling-out, and he hadn’t spoken to his wife since. First Anakin had waited because he badly wanted to talk to her in person. However, as more days passed with no swift return to the Core on the horizon, he had started to realize that any connection to her would be critically important, but arranging a secure private transmission from Praadost to Coruscant had turned out to be challenging even for him. He just might have to resort into seizing the regiment’s communications centre for his own personal use, awkward questions be damned. 

Increasing movement from the Separatist camp focused Anakin’s whole attention back to the enemy. First, the change seemed minuscule, but soon clankers were forming up into battle groups, and heavy machinery were being readied for action. Anakin smiled mirthlessly. _Finally_. 

\--

“To a successful day.” Obi-Wan raised the half-full bottle, the amber liquor sloshing against the glass. He took a long drink, enjoying the pleasant burn of alcohol, and then passed the bottle generously to Anakin. 

“Yes, despite you being a lousy bait,” Anakin accused teasingly. 

“I got them moving, didn’t I?”

“Eventually – _after_ I had been sitting on my ass the better part of the day in an insect teeming jungle.” A small grin lit up Anakin’s tired countenance, gladdening Obi-Wan’s heart. They had both needed the small victory after weeks of frustrating tug-of-war with the enemy. 

Not deigning to answer, Obi-Wan leant his back against the tent canvas, letting himself sink further into the curious mix of post-battle fatigue and euphoria that was peculiar only to a successful combat. Next to him on the cot, Anakin drank from the bottle slowly; Obi-Wan watched his throat ripple as he swallowed. As they sat shoulder to shoulder, Anakin seemed to radiate warmth and vitality despite his obvious weariness. 

His friend held out the bottle towards him, but Obi-Wan shook his head, closing his eyes. The bond between them buzzed with the dregs of adrenalin, heightened from the awareness they still maintained on each other, their battle senses echoing restlessly in tandem, sluggish to fade out. This was the closest they had been since the joint meditation in the aftermath of escaping Kushibah, and Obi-Wan couldn’t help but greedily enjoy their closeness. 

Anakin hummed in satisfaction, the hum more of a reverberating feeling in Obi-Wan’s bones than any true sound. For a long moment they sat together in silence; tight knots in muscles loosening, rapid heartbeats slowing down, heavy thoughts quieting. 

“Where did you manage to get this?” Anakin finally asked, and Obi-Wan opened his eyes to see his former Padawan twirl the bottle between his palms. The fingernails on Anakin’s flesh hand were bitten ragged, and tiny healed cuts intersected across the back of his hand. 

“I made the acquaintance of a very resourceful master sergeant.”

“Of course – I can always trust you to find quality booze in wherever drukhole we are,” Anakin snorted, a welcome glint of mischief in his gaze. 

“A talent you take advantage of shamelessly, you might add.” Obi-Wan smiled sharply, drawing an answering grin from his friend. 

“Well, there has to be _some_ perks to being your partner.” 

“What, my winning personality is not enough for you?” 

“_Hardly_.” But the word was belied by the warm fondness that filled their bond. 

They lapsed into a comfortable silence again, knowing the moment of rest would not last long. Anakin leant more of his weight against Obi-Wan’s shoulder; Obi-Wan adjusted his own balance accordingly. Flashes of past battles lurked just out of sight, acrid fear a stalking shadow, but Obi-Wan resolutely pushed the memories away. He pressed back against Anakin’s arm, the bony elbow digging into his side, a tangible proof: Anakin was solid and alive and _there_. 

During the escape from the wreckage of the _Refuge_, all the while he had been evading Seps on Kushibah, Obi-Wan had feared that he would not get a chance to repair his fractured relationship with Anakin. To his utter relief, he had gotten his chance, and although their bond was still somewhat tentative and raw, things between them now were more honest than they had been even before the war. Obi-Wan still didn’t know what to do with the explosive knowledge of Anakin’s marriage, of his slaughter of the Sand People. But he had faith that whatever happened, his relationship with Anakin would survive.

Perhaps then it was because of their new-found closeness – or because he had promised to help Anakin fight the darkness in him – that somehow the deep anxiety of not getting a chance to make things right had morphed into another kind of fear. An insidious dread that he would lose Anakin to a droid’s lucky shot, a sudden explosion, a reckless jump into danger, a thousand possible bloody ends. Of course, fearing for Anakin’s safety was nothing new, but at least before Obi-Wan had managed to reconcile himself with it. After all, they were Jedi and this was the life they led, even before the war. So why the thought of Anakin dying terrified him suddenly so?

_Alright?_ Anakin’s soundless enquiry scattered Obi-Wan’s disturbing train of thought.

_Yes_, he answered, sending a wave of reassurance to his former Padawan. Careful to not let too much of his complex musings to seep through their bond, Obi-Wan gently withdrew behind his shields, letting their connection return to its normal state of light, unobtrusive awareness. Anakin did not protest, although he furrowed his brow in clear displeasure.

Obi-Wan sighed. Their rest had to come to an end; duty called. He could no longer put off the news. 

“What?” Anakin asked wearily. 

“I talked to the Council.” Obi-Wan paused, noticing how Anakin tensed up. “The reinforcements are arriving in a couple of days.” 

“That’s great!” Anakin exclaimed. “About high time we get to leave this mess.”

“I agree.” The fight over Praadost, or even over the whole Kwymar sector, was hardly the most important front in the sprawling war. They would be better placed elsewhere, but Obi-Wan was of two minds about their next mission. 

“Where to then?” Anakin asked, standing up restlessly, his anxious anticipation ready to explode into action like a ticking bomb.

Obi-Wan, from whom Anakin hadn’t managed to conceal his desperate wish to see Padmé, said gently, “We are not going back to Coruscant.” 

For a small moment, heavy disappointment distorted Anakin’s face, until the young man squared his shoulders and said deceptively airily, “Yeah, I figured. We’ll join our men then?”

“No. The Council wants us to investigate the origins of the holocron, so we are going on a clandestine mission to Ord Radama.” Just thinking about the dangerous time-travel device unsettled Obi-Wan. He had agreed with the Council that the holocron was a priority, but still…he would have gladly given the mission to another team. 

“Makes sense,” Anakin conceded, looking both eager and apprehensive. “We’re in the neighbourhood. But we need to find a new ship. A Republic shuttle is not exactly inconspicuous.” 

Obi-Wan smiled wryly. At least he didn’t have any doubts about the success of this part of the mission. “You don’t have something in mind? I know you already checked out the nearest scrapyard.”

It was gratifying to see that Obi-Wan could still make Anakin blush from embarrassment. “Well, you never know what you might need…” The young man muttered. 

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. 

Anakin shrugged his shoulders. “Alright. I might have something in mind. It’s ugly as hell, but with a few modifications, I can make it fly in two days.” 

“Great. Focus on that, and in the meantime, I’ll handle the Seps.” Obi-Wan rummaged through his backpack, taking out the small item he had gotten just that morning. Unceremoniously, he thrust the encryption module into Anakin’s hands. “Here. Something else the good master sergeant managed to acquire.” He couldn’t claim to be yet comfortable with Anakin’s marriage to Padmé, but he knew how much Anakin yearned to see and hear her. 

Anakin looked flabbergasted. He stared at the module, cradling it carefully in his palm. “Thank you, Master.”

“Your welcome.” And with that, Obi-Wan exited the tent and went back to work. 

\--

Wasting no time, Anakin took out the holoprojector and subspace transceiver he had stashed under his cot. With the encryption module, it was child’s play to rig up a secure transmission to Coruscant. Anticipation and nervousness coiling in his stomach, Anakin established a connection to Padmé’s private subspace transceiver, ready to wait all night if needed. 

The hologram rippled for a moment, and then suddenly Padmé’s beautiful face was in front of him. 

“_Ani_.” Her voice was hoarse. Even through the quivering bluish image, the devastated look in her eyes hit like a sledgehammer against his solar plexus, stealing the air from his lungs. He couldn’t say a word. 

“Are you alright?” Padmé asked. Her arms were placed tightly against her chest, as if she sought to shield herself. “Is Obi-Wan alright?” 

Anakin finally managed to speak. “Yes, we’re fine.” 

“You just left, without leaving any word.” Padmé sounded uncommonly upset. “I had to find out from Master Yoda where you had gone.”

“I had no time, Obi-Wan was in danger,” Anakin explained, even though he knew it was a feeble defence. At the time he had thought he could not contact Padmé, because he had to stay focused on finding his Master. Now, Anakin wondered if in some way he had wanted to pay back the hurt Padmé had caused him with her words by leaving her _no_ word. 

“Really? You couldn’t send me a quick note, one sentence, so instead of fearing everything, I could have feared just something?” 

“I’m sorry,” Anakin said, contrite. He felt terribly guilty, but if Padmé would only let him explain… “I was just so –”

“Thoughtless and selfish,” Padmé snapped, gaze flashing with ire. 

Anakin took a deep breath, trying to settle his rising irritation. Padmé was angry, because she had been afraid _for_ him; Anakin knew he should have reassured her earlier. “I’m sorry I couldn’t contact you sooner. Angel, I don’t want us to fight. We´re being sent on another mission, and I don’t know when I’ll see you again.”

“I don’t want to fight either,” Padmé admitted more calmly. “But I’m not going to pretend that things between us are fine.”

His heart sank. Padmé was still hung up on their earlier fight; like a dog with a bone, she continued to gnaw the subject although nothing of substance was left. “We can talk about it, when I get home.”

Padmé shook her head. “No, Anakin. I won’t do this anymore; I won’t evade and suppress things that hurt, things that are hard – that’s the reason our relationship is in such turmoil in the first place.”

“Let’s talk then,” Anakin dared her. “Tell me, why _now_, so suddenly, you question everything we are to each other?” A dark, wicked thought reared its ugly head: had Padmé fallen for someone else? 

“This is not new – for some time, there’s been this fear and doubt in me…” Padmé confessed, and for all that her voice was strong, there was also hesitancy, as if she was searching for the right words. “Your jealousy and anger…the way you almost killed Clovis…”

Inwardly, Anakin bristled. _Clovis again_. But for once, he stayed silent, knowing that what he wanted to say wouldn’t go overly well with Padmé. _The traitor deserved it_.

“And the Tuskens…_the children_…” Her voice quivered slightly, but she forged stubbornly ahead, “I told myself it was in the past, that me passing any judgement wouldn’t help anything…I wanted to believe you would never do something like that again.”

“I won’t!” Anakin croaked, although a terrible doubt lived in him. What if he did do it again?

“But I can’t believe that anymore,” Padmé cried, giving voice to Anakin’s fear. 

Anakin wanted to say that he understood now the guilt Padmé had so obviously carried about the Tuskens, that he recognized the shadow the horrendous act had cast upon their relationship. He wanted to say she should bear no blame for any of it. And yet, a tiny part of him was resentful. Why didn’t you say anything before, he wanted to ask. Why did you let me believe I was in the right? Why did you let me pretend away the crime with your silence? 

“So, you think I am a horrible person,” Anakin summed up bitterly, perhaps a tad unfairly. “How you ever loved me in the first place is a complete mystery.”

“Don’t –” Padmé said sharply. “Don’t twist this into something it’s not.” 

When Anakin did not answer, she sighed and continued, “Us being apart, I think it will do us good. We both need some time to think about the future, of what we are willing to do to get our relationship to work. Anakin, you need to think about it too, not just placate and evade and pretend –”

“But I have thought things through! I have! I showed –” But Anakin couldn’t tell her about what he had shown to Obi-Wan in their meditation, how he had begged for forgiveness and help. Suddenly that seemed too private, meant to be kept just between him and Obi-Wan. And how could she even understand the utter closeness, the deep absolution, he had experienced? Although Padmé knew several Jedi, was _married_ to one, she could never experience that kind of unity herself. 

“You showed what?”

“I did wrong – I know that, and I am so sorry,” Anakin said firmly, ignoring her question. “But I know what I want. I love you and I want to be with you. This war can’t last forever, and after that I will leave the Jedi, and we’ll be a proper family. That’s what I want.”

“Ani…” Padmé looked at him with such disappointment it felt like a physical blow struck upon him. 

But he forged ahead, saying harshly, “Look, it’s simple: do you love me? Do you want us to be together?” 

“I do love you – I reckon I will always love you. But I don’t know if I want to be your wife anymore.” Her answer utterly unmade him, and yet her eyes were clear and her voice steady. “I’m sorry, Anakin.”

“I’m sorry too,” he whispered, numb with shock. 

“Be well and be safe,” Padmé bade him. When Anakin did not say anything in turn, she smiled sadly. “Goodbye.” And then she was gone, the hologram flickering for just a second without a picture, before it too vanished. Anakin was left staring at the holoprojector, alone. 

An invisible force lifted the communication device and held it in the air – and then smashed it into the ground, ripped it violently apart. Anakin’s silent roar shook the tent, made all the clones nearby suddenly shiver with cold. Despair mixing with fury, he wanted to dash outside and find an enemy, unleash every dark thing in him upon them. 

But instead, he fell to his knees in the middle of shattered machine parts, defeated not just by his own anger, but by his fear and love.


	2. Ord Radama

The ship really was ugly as hell, but true to his word, Anakin had managed to get it in the air on time. They were well on their way to Ord Radama, despite the freighter looking and sounding like it would disintegrate at any moment. Standing in the middle of the wrecked lounge, Obi-Wan shook his head. _Where does Anakin always manage to find these flying pieces of junk?_

The small common room that also included the ship’s tiny galley was caked with a deep layer of dirt and grime, the upholstery of the bench badly torn. The round table listed alarmingly to one side, and some cables and cords stuck out of the corners haphazardly, exposed. The rest of the ship was in the same derelict condition, every once shiny surface now filthy and decaying. Obi-Wan had taken one look at the two passenger cabins and retreated hurriedly; he was sure something had made their nests in the bunks. 

Clanks and clatters echoed through the ship, originating from the direction of the engine room. Normally that would have been deeply alarming, but now it was only somewhat worrisome, since he knew R2 was there, puttering about. Anakin had tasked the maintenance of the freighter to the droid, who had vanished into the bowels of the ship peeping and hooting – either excitedly or furiously, Obi-Wan couldn’t really tell. Perhaps that should have made him more anxious, but at least as long as _Anakin_ was in the ship, he was sure that R2 would do its utmost to keep the vessel in the air. 

However, even R2 could not do miracles in such a short time; the ship needed thorough repairing and cleaning – and pest removal – to be remotely comfortable. That took time they did not have. For once, the journey to their destination was a short one, and Obi-Wan found himself wishing a little more time to prepare and plan. Ord Radama was a dangerous place: during the Jedi Civil War, the planet had aligned with the Sith Empire, and now it was a Separatist stronghold. It would not be easy to slip unnoticed into one of the main spaceports and then search for the information they needed.

Moreover, would there still be anything for them to find? The freighter, where they had found the holocron, had last been in Ord Radama – but that was well over a month ago. The possibility of success for their mission seemed miniscule; he had doubted from the first, if they could sniff out the secret operative by retracing their steps, and the trail had to be ice cold by this point. Not wanting to rely on such an uncertain chance, Obi-Wan had already contacted Bail and convinced his friend to find out anything he could about the mysterious appearance of the holocron. Bail had promised to do his best to wheedle the identity of the operative out of his source, but had warned it would likely take time and patience and definitely a deep pocket of credits. 

Obi-Wan turned back to the short corridor that led to the cockpit, pausing next to the captain’s suite. It was the only space, beside the cockpit, they had managed to make livable. The space still smelled like rank swamp, but at least the bunk had been scrubbed clean, and was now covered with their own blankets. For a moment, he was tempted to shut himself inside the cabin and pursue the ever-elusive peace of mind through meditation. However, he couldn’t avoid the sullen storm cloud that was his former Padawan forever, even though Obi-Wan would have preferred even the company of the overzealous AZI-2 to Anakin at the moment. But since the medical droid had been left behind on Praadost, its talents desperately needed in the field hospital, Obi-Wan was a little short of company. 

The whirl of Anakin’s misery and ire was like an oppressive heat, his ill temper blanketing the whole ship. There was no escaping it for long, and so Obi-Wan headed to the cockpit, determined to interrupt his friend’s sulk. If nothing else, they would have to talk about the upcoming mission, go through the contingency plans one more time before they arrived to their fast approaching destination.

Anakin’s mood had been irritable and quick to anger since his call to Padmé, and it didn’t take a genius to guess that their conversation hadn’t gone well. Normally that wouldn’t cause Obi-Wan to worry, but Anakin’s mood still showed no signs of improving, instead the young man seemed to be withdrawing further into dark thoughts. That indicated that whatever had happened was more than a regular quarrel between lovers. 

Anakin didn’t acknowledge Obi-Wan in any way as he entered the cockpit, but continued to stare dully through the viewport. Strands of hair fell in front of his eyes, covering his unseeing gaze. Obi-Wan sat in the co-pilot’s seat, anxiety pinching his insides. After seeing what lay inside Anakin, the darkness that had such a firm hold of him, every sign of his Padawan’s darker emotions seemed doubly alarming, demanding immediate intervention. But how could he help, if Anakin refused to talk to him? 

“Some creatures have done nests in both of the passenger cabins – I think I saw a tail,” Obi-Wan said wryly. “You couldn’t have picked something with a little less…wildlife?” Anakin was uncommonly defensive about his ships; Obi-Wan remembered how fond his friend had been of the _Twilight_. Disparaging comments about his newest vessel was a surest way to get him to respond. 

“To be honest, I’m amazed we are still flying,” he continued, watching Anakin’s impassive expression from the corner of his eye. “You outdid yourself this time, my friend.”

“It was hardly a challenge,” Anakin snorted quietly. “Whoever left this ship behind wasn’t a very good mechanic. They could have repaired it quite easily, but they abandoned it instead and left it to rot. One more year in the scrapheap, and the ship would have been unsalvageable.”

Anakin’s face darkened with some nameless emotion; Obi-Wan forced his voice to sound untroubled as he answered, “Their inaptitude – or laziness – is our gain then.” 

When it was clear Anakin wouldn’t continue the conversation, Obi-Wan asked, genuinely curious, “Have you found out the ship’s name yet?” There had been no name etched on the outside hull of the YT-2400 light freighter that Obi-Wan had seen. 

“Its owner didn’t give it a name.” Anakin’s tone told clearly that he thought it a crime to leave any ship unnamed.

“Well, have _you_ named it then?”

Anakin shook his head. 

Obi-Wan frowned. “I thought that flying in an unnamed ship is bad luck – or so you always claimed.”

“Giving it the wrong name is even more bad luck.” Finally, the beginnings of a small smile played on Anakin’s face. “At least according to the spacers.” 

“You should name it then – or rather _her_.” Obi-Wan had never understood why pilots insisted on referring to their vessels with the feminine pronoun. Somewhat encouraged by the shift in his friend’s mood, Obi-Wan decided to grab the bull by the horns. Hesitantly, quite a bit awkwardly, he began: “I trust that Padmé is well?” 

Whatever lightness had been on Anakin’s face dimmed. “More or less.” 

“She must have been disappointed to hear you couldn’t come to Coruscant.” Inwardly Obi-Wan grimaced – his clumsy attempts were far from the talents of the famed Negotiator. 

“Not really,” Anakin said, his voice barren and toneless. Not once had he looked at Obi-Wan. 

Obi-Wan suppressed a deep sigh. Anakin’s behaviour reminded him too much of his former Padawan’s sullen teenage years, although luckily the resentment and anger that had been heaped on Obi-Wan then were absent now. For a small moment – to his utter shame – Obi-Wan himself was disgruntled for having to try to play marriage counsellor to the secret couple, but the feeling quickly passed in front of his friend’s misery. 

“Anakin…what’s wrong?”

The young man shook his head sharply, eyes briefly closing. His shields stayed firmly shut, blocking all but the general feel of his negative emotions from Obi-Wan. 

“You can talk to me about anything – even if I don’t know how to help, I’ll listen.” 

“Obi-Wan, I don’t…” Indecisive, Anakin paused, clearly fighting some internal struggle. Obi-Wan waited patiently, hoping that his friend would choose to unburden himself. Whatever their source, strong and volatile emotions, when left to fester in doubt and fear, always led to disaster. 

Finally, Anakin said with a hint of apology, “I don’t want to talk about it. I can’t. Not yet.”

Obi-Wan fought to cover his disappointment. It seemed almost like despite all the progress they had made in their relationship, they were still mired in old harmful habits. Yet, knowing it was futile to press on with the topic, Obi-Wan let it go, taking hope from the fact that Anakin hadn’t ruled out discussing the matter entirely. Anakin wanted time – Obi-Wan would give it to him. 

“Alright,” he acquiesced, taking care not to sound accusing. “Let’s go through the plans then.” 

Anakin flashed him a small, grateful smile, and launched into the mission run-through. Obi-Wan, feeling instantly a little bit lighter, knew that in that moment at least, he had said the right words. 

\--

_What a waste of time._

Anakin plopped down in the pilot’s seat, where – even he could admit – he was spending an inordinate amount of time. Obi-Wan had retired to the captain’s suite, and Anakin had no wish to share the small space with him. Besides, someone had to keep an eye on things. Just because they had managed to stay under radar, their true identities and mission remaining a secret, was no reason to give up caution. So, naturally, as the infiltration went well, the rest of the mission reeked of failure: they hadn’t actually found any information about the mystery person, who had left the freighter drifting in space, the time-travel holocron hidden inside. And with every day spent fruitlessly searching, it seemed increasingly likely there was nothing for them to find. 

Ord Radama was quickly turning out to be a dead end. Their ship had sat on Cieran 5, one of the main spaceports of the capital city New Raido, for five days under the guise of urgent repairs. The cover story was entirely plausible; the freighter looked like it could come apart at the joints if one gave it a light shove. However, looks were more often than not deceptive. Anakin knew the vessel was sturdy and resilient. It had lain abandoned among junk and rubbish, but with some attention and modifications, some commitment, he could make it as good a ship as _Twilight_ had been. 

Soon, it could bore him away into the furthest corner of the galaxy, hide him among the stars, vanish into the deep black. It could take him away wherever he wished. 

But there was only one place he wished to go, and nothing could get him there. He wanted to be in Padmé’s embrace, surrounded by her unshakable faith in him, feeling her fiery love and passion. All of that was lost to him now. 

The breaking up of their marriage was still hard to fathom, and there were moments Anakin struggled against it, his mind trying to twist everything for the better: Padmé didn’t really mean what she had said, or she would soon realize she had made a horrible mistake, and she would relent and repent. However, these thoughts were fleeting, as even Anakin’s stubborn optimism could recognize the truth in her words and the sincerity in her intent, making the return from wishful thinking to reality all the more painful. 

Padmé’s strength of will equalled Anakin’s own, and the resolution in her decision was absolute. She had found their marriage lacking, she had found _him_ wanting, so she had cast it all ruthlessly aside, endeavouring to return into some former ideal she had of herself, into simpler times. Anakin could not help but think her naïve in that effort – there was no going back. He had started to realize that even time travel could not repair the cracks in an unstable foundation, change the rotten core into fresh. They could not alter who they were; if Padmé could not love him as he was, it was beyond Anakin’s power to change it, even if he continued to love, desperately and deeply, beyond hope. 

Anakin had promised to love Padmé forever; he would love her unto death itself. Loving her was etched deep into his soul, scribed there with fire and blood. He knew nothing would ever change that, even if they were never to kiss again – nay, if they were never to meet again, never to speak another word to each other again. Without her, he would forever feel bereft, without some essential part of himself, never whole. 

Therefore, how could he accept their marriage was over? How could he ever let her go? Padmé had thrown aside their marriage vows, but still Anakin would not see them broken; all his other oaths were already asunder. The Jedi Code he had wilfully, almost gleefully cast aside, which had led him to dark paths, but also to the love he would not forsake. He had torn his friendship with Obi-Wan by lying to his Master long and shamelessly, and now he ached to mend that breach, to renew their vow of brotherhood again. Mere month ago, that had seemed an impossible task, but now miraculously there was possibility and hope, as long as Anakin himself didn’t squander it. 

His Master had seen into the darkest parts of Anakin, and contrary to all of Anakin’s fears, he hadn’t abandoned him nor cast him aside. Obi-Wan had promised to help him, had vowed to always be there for him, had forgiven him. In a way Anakin had never thought to be possible, Obi-Wan understood the beast that lived in Anakin, had himself touched the fire that revenge and death fed into an unquenchable furnace. If told in mere words, Anakin could not have believed it, but seeing it, _feeling_ it through their bond, was a truth that could no longer be denied. 

Since their joint meditation, Obi-Wan had been nothing but sincere and sympathetic, his concern and care for Anakin evident. Even in the matter of Anakin’s unravelling relationship with Padmé, his Master attempted to help, although he had to be still uncomfortable and uneasy with their secret marriage. It both gladdened and hurt Anakin to see Obi-Wan trying so hard to communicate, to understand, to reach Anakin, even when repeatedly rebuffed. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to confide in Obi-Wan, he just didn’t quite know how. Words seemed inadequate for all that he was feeling, too small and mundane for the immense tidal wave of emotions battering him down. Somehow that which had been easy – a relief – to show through their bond, was too hard to speak aloud. 

More than once, Anakin had almost asked for them to meditate together again, but had thought better of it. Secretly, he yearned for that closeness again, needed that sense of deep unity, and yet inexplicably he shied away from it. He didn’t want to be too demanding, although he would have gladly taken everything his Master offered him and more. Anakin knew his greediness for affection and attention to be a bottomless well, a hole that even his mother’s steady love hadn’t been able to fully fill. He feared it would be too much for Obi-Wan; Anakin’s need could overwhelm him, perhaps succeeding in that which his darkness had not – finally driving Obi-Wan away. 

Exhausted by the despondent thoughts savagely circling him, Anakin at last fell into an uneasy sleep against his will, slumped uncomfortably over the ship’s controls. For a long time, sleep had been an uncertain reprieve, more often than not coloured by restless dreams, whose details were hard to recall upon waking. In sleep, confusing images blended with the swirl of memories, both blurry and sharp, mundane and painful. 

This time was no different: the sand sea swallowed him whole, even as the dark space gathered him close and whispered cruel things in his ear. The empty halls were cold tombs, endless and accusing. Padmé´s image was horribly distorted by the transceiver, a deathly grimace painted on her face, but her voice was clear and assertive. _I don’t love you anymore. I don’t want to be your wife. I want to be free._

Anakin shifted restlessly, but he was finally too tired to wake, even as his mind struggled against the dreams. The force around him reverberated with his distress, unsettling those tuned into it. Obi-Wan, whom sleep still eluded, rose from his hard berth with a heavy heart. Unbeknownst to Anakin, he entered the cockpit silently, knowing already what he would find. 

Slowly, he laid his palm on Anakin’s furrowed forehead with a touch so light it barely brushed against the skin. Their bond was still shielded, but there were tiny fissures in the walls, Anakin’s misery and confusion seeping through. Carefully, Obi-Wan widened those cracks; not so he could invade into Anakin’s personal mind-space, but to gently direct warmth and peace towards him. 

Just as it had countless times before, when Obi-Wan had done it to the child and the teenager Anakin had been and then to the young man Anakin now was, the trick seemed to work: Anakin sighed and then settled, looking more relaxed. Not willing to leave his Padawan alone, Obi-Wan sat on the co-pilot’s seat, his back twinging with the uncomfortable position. Eyes gritty and mouth dry, he resigned himself for a long wakeful night, wishing he could take part in whatever made his friend smile in his sleep. 

If Anakin had only known, he would have gladly shared the comfort he found in these new peaceful dreams. They were his most treasured things, and surely sharing them with Obi-Wan would have made them more treasured still: the faint note of his mother’s lullaby, Padmé’s loving smile, the steady weight of his river stone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas and happy holidays to you all! :)


	3. Cron Drift

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time-wise, this story happens in the last year of the Clone Wars. However, I'm not following the canonical events, for example I'm making up my own battles. So in that sense, this story diverges from canon.

Predictably, Rex and Cody had already gotten most of the plan together by the time Anakin managed to pilot the limping freighter into one of the _Vigilance’s_ hangar bays. Having no time for a proper shower, let alone rest, Obi-Wan and Anakin headed straight for the situation room, where their second-in-commands were already waiting in front of the holographic map of the Adega system. Above the round holotable, the stars, suns, moons and planets hung in the air, slowly orbiting each other in continual motion. 

“Gentlemen.” Obi-Wan inclined his head in greeting. Quite without his leave, a small smile was slowly stretching across his face. Not even the frustrations of the disappointing mission to Ord Radama, the abrupt orders to travel to their next battlefield, and the hurried and stressful flight to his flagship, could dim the simple fact that it felt good to be back with his troops. 

“Generals,” Cody said, somehow managing to convey satisfaction, although not a single line changed in his composed face. 

“Glad you could join us, sirs.” Rex was equally expressionless, although Obi-Wan had no trouble filling the missing word in his sentence: _finally_. They had been expected to arrive 24 hours earlier. 

“Yes well, it’s a small miracle we are here at all,” Obi-Wan answered dryly. “We had some…_slight_ technical difficulties with the ship.” Namely that there had been a moment, when the freighter had just stopped working, threatening to suffocate them in the cold blackness of space. Only their breathing masks and Anakin’s furious and inspired repairs had gotten them back to the status quo, where the ship wasn’t _actively_ trying to kill them. 

“That’s the target?” Anakin asked sharply, pointing at the unremarkable looking small moon that hovered amongst its peers. 

The casual mood effectively broken, both clones imperceptibly snapped to attention. “Yes sir,” Cody confirmed. “Nerit. One of the two moons of Ossus. The Seps have established a garrison there.”

Rex zoomed in the image; Nerit grew bigger until it filled the whole display. A red dot on its southern hemisphere indicated the enemy’s position. Obi-Wan studied the map, noticing that there didn’t seem to be anything else notable on the moon. 

“No local population, no other structures,” Rex stated. “But its our gateway to Ossus – the Seps can effectively defend against any attack and siege from that small rock. We have to first render their defences on Nerit inoperable before we can try to take the planet.”

“_Do_, Rex.” Anakin’s voice was dark as he grinned mirthlessly. “There’s no try.”

“Yes sir,” Rex agreed easily. 

“We have to get there first,” Obi-Wan interjected, continuing to be disturbed by Anakin’s dark demeanour. He had hoped that being reunited with their troops would have lifted Anakin’s bleak mood, but that didn’t seem to be the case. His former Padawan was applying himself to their next campaign with a worrisome and uncharacteristic grimness. 

“Getting there is not going to be easy.” Cody changed the image so it displayed the whole Auril sector. Large part of the map was covered in a giant asteroid field that blocked the way to nearby systems, including the Adega system. 

“_Kark_. Cron Drift.” Anakin’s expression twisted into even harsher lines. 

“We can’t travel through hyperspace; the asteroid field’s shadow is too fluctuating. We have to steer the fleet through Cron Drift the old-fashioned way.” Rex didn’t sound too happy about it; a sentiment Obi-Wan could wholeheartedly agree with. Navigating a whole fleet of ships through an asteroid field of considerable size was hazardous and exacting. But it wasn’t as if they had any choice on the matter. They had to take Ossus, which was too close to the vital Perlemian Trade Route to be left in the hands of the Separatists. And to take the planet, they had to actually get there first.

“No doubt Admiral Block is up to the task,” Obi-Wan commented. The old fleet officer had ample experience and had ran Obi-Wan’s flagships, first the reliable _Negotiator_ and then its replacement _Vigilance_, with admirable skill. 

“As long as we get to Nerit, before everyone knows we’re here,” Anakin muttered, his eyes fixed on the thick cluster of small pinprick sized dots indicating Cron Drift. “Taking the Seps by surprise is crucial.” 

“They can’t detect our ships through the asteroid field, after we’re clear of that, we can hide the fleet behind Mim, Ossus’ other moon, while we prepare for the attack.” Cody sounded confident, and as he and Rex started going over their scheme for neutralizing the defences on Nerit, Obi-Wan could only marvel once again how competent and smart their officers were. They could have easily managed the whole attack by themselves, but nonetheless, Obi-Wan was glad to be there to take that burden from them. Better that at the end of the day, he would bear the responsibility if something went wrong, if men were lost. 

After going over the plan with great detail, Obi-Wan finally called it quits. They would have time to hone it further in the coming days – at least the slow journey through the asteroid field gave them that. Weary and wanting nothing more than to take a quick sonic before hopefully sleep found him, Obi-Wan was the first to turn to leave. As he exited the room, he heard Rex’s and Anakin’s muted exchange. 

“General, are you alright?” 

“Never better, Rex. Can’t wait to give those clankers hell.”

“I’m with you sir.”

\--

Three days later Obi-Wan stood in front of a large viewport, gazing at the dark monstrous shapes that emerged from the blackness, seeking to crush his ship in their fatal embrace. _Vigilance_ was slowly pushing its way through the heaving, unpredictable sea of rocks, clearing the way for the other vessels in the fleet. The ship’s turbolasers were hard at work, destroying the smaller asteroids on their path. The bigger rocks were too large even for the Star Destroyer; those they had to carefully evade and go around. Needless to say, the journey was slow going. 

Their current snail’s pace made Obi-Wan uncommonly impatient. He knew it stemmed from his own inability to make the most of the rare opportunity to rest and prepare properly for the upcoming campaign. His sleep was restless and meditation elusive, all because of his thoughts went around in circles unresolved, from the mystery of the holocron to the unease of their newest mission to take Ossus, always returning to – well, who else but Anakin. 

Obi-Wan had wished that their time on the _Vigilance_ and away from any pressing immediate action would have made Anakin shed his hard, protective shell; that the small hiatus would have given him a proper place and suitable time to finally open up to Obi-Wan. Instead, the opposite seemed to be true: Anakin had withdrawn into himself further, acting tense and curt the few times they had met at briefings. Despite Obi-Wan having extensive experience on Anakin-hunting, his former Padawan had so far managed to successfully evade being alone with him. 

Annoyed and frustrated, Obi-Wan would have normally given up and left Anakin to stew in his bad mood, had he been any less worried about his friend’s state of mind. Obi-Wan had even considered the most drastic of measures: contacting Padmé. More than likely she could have given him some insight into what had pushed Anakin into such a depression. However, he had thought better of it, for it no doubt would have felt like a betrayal to Anakin. And now, even if the idea again seemed worthwhile, it was impossible. No communications could pierce through Cron Drift. 

“General.” Cody had silently come to stand beside Obi-Wan.

“Cody. What’s the latest sitrep?”

“Everything is as well as can be expected, sir. _Defiant_ has suffered some damage, but they assure they can continue to operate almost at full capacity.” 

Relief loosened Obi-Wan’s shoulders from their rigid stance. He had expected the fleet to suffer casualties in the asteroid field, but so far no ships had been lost. Some damage was to be expected; that only one of their assault ships had gotten banged up seemed a welcome miracle. Still, they were only half-way through – anything could yet happen.

“Our starfighters were ready yesterday,” Cody continued evenly. “A couple of gunships are still out of commission, but the mechanics will get them repaired on time for the main assault.”

“Good news then.” Actually, it was great news: rarely these days were they so well prepared. Usually they were pressed for time or lacking necessary equipment or undermanned – or all three. The war was being fought with ever depleting resources, the Senate seeking yet another massive funding to keep the war machine running. It was not sustainable, had not been for a long time. Soon, something would have to give. 

“The men have some time to unwind, catch their breath.” Suddenly, Cody’s lips pulled into a small grin. “But luckily not too much time.”

It made Obi-Wan smile. He knew from first hand experience that idle clones usually equalled trouble. “I’m glad. They deserve it after Sarka.” The 212th and 501st had been trenched in Sarkan mountains for weeks with little equipment, while Obi-Wan and Anakin had been on Praadost II. 

“Yes,” Cody readily agreed. “If I never see those rocks again, I can die a happy man.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be with you earlier.” They both had to go where they were ordered, but Obi-Wan still felt a twinge of guilt, when his troops faced hardships without him. 

“You were _shot down_, sir,” Cody countered. “We were all just happy to hear you made it. And none of the boys begrudged that the 26th got to keep you for a while.” 

“Well, it’s good to be back.” Obi-Wan gave Cody’s pauldron a light pat. His relationship with the clone commander was uncomplicated and based on mutual respect. All the drama with Anakin had made Obi-Wan miss Cody’s no-nonsense conduct. 

“General…,” Cody began, uncharacteristically hesitant. “Is something the matter with General Skywalker?”

Denial ready on his lips, Obi-Wan paused. Cody deserved the truth, but Obi-Wan could not reveal any of Anakin’s thoughts – and not least because he himself hardly knew them. He settled for a quiet but firm, “I’ll handle it.” 

Satisfied, Cody nodded, trusting that Obi-Wan would indeed take care of it. 

\--

Obi-Wan continued his hunt with renewed determination. His first stop was the portside hangar bay, where the still unnamed freighter aka _Death-trap_ – as Obi-Wan had aptly named it in his mind – resided. Anakin had spent a lot of time fixing the ship, but had still managed to be absent every time Obi-Wan had come by, no doubt with his co-conspirator R2’s eager help. 

The freighter was swarmed with a small army of droids; they seemed to be everywhere, all chirping and hooting and bleeping. A couple of maintenance droids were wedged under the ship, only their stubby legs showing. Small cleaning droids went up and down the loading ramp, dragging trash out and bringing supplies in. A shower of sparks flew down from the top of the freighter, where three astromech droids were focused on cutting something from the docking hatch. In the middle of all the bustle, R2 kept self-importantly watch: a small dictator reigning over its miniature kingdom. 

“Is Anakin here?” Obi-Wan asked, more out of habit than anything else. He did not sense Anakin’s presence, but that was hardly a solid proof of his former Padawan’s absence. 

R2’s sharp peep meant a decisive _NO_. That also was not to be taken at face value. Dodging droids, Obi-Wan strode inside the ship. R2 hooted something derogatory after him, but kept its distance, rightfully deducing that Obi-Wan meant business. 

After checking all the possible spaces – including the refresher – Obi-Wan had to concede that Anakin was not inside the freighter. Not deterred from his search, he continued onto his next best guess: the ventral hangar bay, where among the other starfighters Anakin’s fighter waited for action. He drew a blank there too; next up was the mess, then the engine room, then the mechanics’ workshops. 

The _Venator_-class Star Destroyer had ample hiding places, and if Anakin so wanted, he could continue to play hide and seek indefinitely. Fortunately, after searching most of the likely and unlikely places, Obi-Wan finally found his quarry in one of the smaller exercise rooms. 

Anakin was in the middle of a set of sequences, the rapid attacks and parries of his favoured Djem So blurring into a fevered flash of blue. He had been at it obviously for some time; his undertunic stuck to his skin and his forehead was damp with sweat. Obi-Wan watched from the side of the room as his friend finished the sequence of precise movements, coming to a standstill with heaving breath.

Keeping his gaze firmly on his still powered weapon, Anakin did not look at Obi-Wan’s direction. The steady hum of the lightsaber filled the otherwise quiet space, underlining the silence between them.

“_Anakin_,” Obi-Wan said, stepping further into the room. 

As if suddenly woken up from a deep trance, Anakin quickly switched off his lightsaber, turning abruptly around. He sidestepped Obi-Wan and headed for the opposite wall, where the rest of his clothes lay in a messy pile. 

“Has something happened to the fleet? Did we lose a ship?” Anakin asked, picking up his overtunic, using it to wipe the sweat from his brow. Just barely, Obi-Wan refrained from pointing out that, _that is what towels are for, Anakin_. 

“No, nothing is wrong with the fleet,” he assured his former Padawan. “Everything is prepared, the troops are ready for action when we arrive to the Adega system.” 

“Good,” Anakin grunted, continuing to evade Obi-Wan’s eyes. The shields he had erected around his mind did not waver in the slightest, the bond between them staying dormant and listless. Lonely. 

“Are _you_ ready?”

“Of course,” Anakin huffed, crumpling the tunic in his hands. 

_Are you really? Please, tell me what is wrong, my friend._ If Anakin heard him through the bond, he did not react in any way, forcing Obi-Wan to say everything he wanted to express out loud or leave it unsaid.

Resolutely pushing down the frustration that surged to take hold of him, Obi-Wan said more harshly than he intended, “This sullen mood of yours has gone on long enough. Whatever the problem, it has to be addressed and then _let go_.”

“The way you always let everything go?” Anakin mocked, lips twisting into a grimace. 

Obi-Wan swallowed painfully. “I don’t claim to solve everything always the right way, or that I haven’t made mistakes with people, with you.” He struggled to continue, frowning. “But this…Anakin, you are not yourself.”

“Maybe I’m more myself now than I have ever been,” Anakin countered, the bitterness in his voice evident. 

“Anakin –” 

Anakin threw his overtunic to the floor, biting back through gritted teeth, “You promised not to pry, to wait until I’m ready to tell, and I’m not yet. _I don’t want to talk._” 

Obi-Wan took a deep breath, settling his churning mind with more effort than usual. A part of him wanted to just _shake_ Anakin, make the stubborn young man tell him what tormented his thoughts, made him so miserable. But Anakin had never reacted well to Obi-Wan pushing him for answers; in the past all heavy-handed attempts had ended in resentment and further strife. 

“Alright,” Obi-Wan forced himself to agree, knowing he had to tread carefully, be more patient still. However, that didn’t mean letting Anakin be by himself. “How about we meditate together?”

Anakin hesitated for a small moment, but then shook his head in refusal.

_Force, give me strength_, Obi-Wan thought, suppressing a vexed sigh. “What do you want to do then? Because I’m not leaving you alone.”

“I don’t need a _kriffing_ nursemaid –” Anakin began hotly, his temper ready to flare up in an instant. 

“_Stop_,” Obi-Wan interrupted him firmly. “We don’t have to talk about it – nor anything else – not yet. But I won’t tolerate your self-imposed isolation any longer. You cannot continue to hide from me.” If Anakin kept shunning everyone’s company, he would retreat even further into himself. Brooding alone, dark thoughts would no doubt take more easily root in his lonely mind, twisting the good into bad, the truth into lies. 

To Obi-Wan’s utter relief, Anakin decided not to argue further. It seemed that Obi-Wan still held some leftover authority from Anakin’s apprenticeship, or perhaps Anakin simply recognized that on this matter Obi-Wan would not budge. 

“Let’s spar,” Anakin suggested and drew his lightsaber back into his hand, a clear challenge in his bright blue eyes. 

It had been some time since they had last sparred together. Obi-Wan could hardly refuse, nor did he want to. The mock lightsaber combat was the one activity they both enjoyed equally; they challenged each other, their respective talents complementary and inspiring, both of them ever striving for improvement in their skill.

Obi-Wan took off his tabard and overtunic, depositing them neatly next to Anakin’s on the floor. He did the basic stretches, forgoing a more thorough warm-up. Meanwhile, Anakin had launched into another sequence from Form V as he waited his former Master with barely held back impatience. 

In no time, Obi-Wan was ready for the sparring session; he set his lightsaber to its lowest setting and settled into an opening stance. Anakin positioned himself opposite Obi-Wan, grinning sharply. His former Padawan slashed the air with his weapon, throwing down the proverbial gauntlet. 

Obi-Wan smirked and inclined his head. _Bring it on._

In a rush of speed and force, Anakin jumped up and Obi-Wan rose to counter him: their blades met in a familiar clash of blue on blue. Strength encountering strength, instinct confronting instinct, they were evenly matched. Their eyes met above the brilliant hue of their lightsabers; then there was no time to think, only react and feel, as their bodies and minds were taken over by the age-old dance of the Jedi.


	4. Nerit

It was raining ash. 

The mutilated parts of a large shield generator were strewn on the ground, the pieces scattered haphazardly around Anakin. The deformed metal was still scalding hot, the glowing red unfurling like an exotic flower from the centre of the impact area. Clones lay in the midst of the destruction, white armour blackened, limbs twisted in unnatural angles. Smoke hang in the air, shrouding the nightmarish scene. 

“Gen – al?” Rex’s anxious voice could barely be heard through the crackle of the comms. “_General Skyw – er?_”

Anakin cleared his throat, trying to shake the irritation of the fumes. His eyes stung. The ground continued to lightly shake under his feet, although the effects of the explosion should have been over. Belatedly, Anakin realized it was not the ground still trembling, but his own feet. 

“General?!” Rex sounded uncommonly worried. Anakin thought he had better answer his captain. 

“Yes,” he croaked. 

Brief silence, then: “General, wha – s your status?”

Anakin pressed his feet more firmly against the mangled ground. “I’m…standing.” He was still upright; others were not. He took a deep breath and burst into a hacking cough. _Fokus!_ Anakin’s mind commanded him sternly. _It’s not over yet._

“The squad is gone. The AT-TE too,” he rasped. Behind him, the remains of the walker were smouldering, the smell of scorched flesh pungent. “The first shield generator is destroyed – the secondary is still active.”

The hulking structure was firmly entrenched into the rocky terrain, little damage visible on its exterior; its twin had borne all the brunt of his team’s assault. It had to be taken out too – even with just one shield operational, their fleet would not be able to enter Nerit’s atmosphere, and without the backing of the fleet, they could not hold the garrison with their small assault force. Bypassing Nerit had already been deemed impossible: they simply could not leave an enemy outpost on their rear, if their attempt to take Ossus was to succeed. 

Anakin _had_ to destroy that shield generator. 

There was just one problem. Even though Anakin and his men had managed to wipe out most of the defences around the generators, there were still clankers inside the intact structure, a whole artillery up and running. No doubt there were also more droidekas waiting, ready to sprang up from their hiding places. 

“General, we’re headed your way,” Rex reported, sounding like he was running. “Wait for us.”

“No time for that, Rex.” Anakin had no explosives left, but there was more than one way to destroy that shield generator. Granted, it would take closer contact with the enemy than he liked, but that was neither here nor there. 

“Wait for us!” Rex shouted, swearing heavily. In the background, there were sounds of yelling, sounds of explosions. “We’ll be there!” 

Anakin shook his head. “Can’t, Rex.” He ignored the following protests, tuning out his second-in-command’s harried voice. The smoke was clearing, and with it any cover he had in the open terrain.

Gathering all his strength, the Force around him pregnant with anticipation and pent-up frenzy, Anakin moved towards his target with a singular focus. He had to destroy the last shield generator. Fighting for the Republic, winning these battles – that was the only thing he was good for, the only thing he could still do for the people he loved and cared about. 

\--

Obi-Wan kept a tight lid on his fury in the immediate aftermath of the assault on Nerit. He did not grit his teeth during his brief call to Admiral Block, he did not bark his orders to his men as he oversaw the securing of the garrison, nor did he display any frustration as he took in report after report. Only when he entered the small room, where Kix had managed to corner Anakin, did the rage finally rear its ugly head. 

The medic took one look at Obi-Wan’s face and moved swiftly to the exit. 

“Kix.” Obi-Wan nodded sharply, his eyes never leaving his _stupid, foolhardy_ Padawan, who was sitting slumped on a large munition box, clothes and face still dirty from the battle.

“He’s alright,” Kix said quietly as he passed Obi-Wan, leaving the two Jedi alone. Obi-Wan knew the medic would make sure they would not be disturbed. 

The hiss of the closing door was the final catalyst, and the words Obi-Wan had carried with him, since he had learnt of Anakin’s hare-brained stunt, poured out of him vehemently. “What the _frak_ you thought you were doing? Of all the irresponsible, reckless stunts you have ever pulled, this one takes the cake!” 

Anakin looked startled at Obi-Wan’s anger, but of course still tried to argue back stubbornly: “I had to – you know that shield generator had to be destroyed.” 

“But not by you _single-handedly_, without any kriffing backup,” Obi-Wan bit out. His heart was still beating in a painful harsh rhythm, fear an acid stone lodged in his throat. 

“There was no time –”

“That’s utter _druk!_” Obi-Wan had stood almost motionlessly by the door, but now he exploded into movement. More incensed than he had felt in a long time, he strode to Anakin and grabbed him hard by the tabard, lifting him up and shoving him into a wall. “Rex was nearly there! You could have waited for reinforcements! But instead you chose to attack by yourself, entirely needlessly, heedless of anyone else!”

“I didn’t…” Anakin began feebly, but his words tapered off into silence. He looked stunned and surprised by the manifestation of Obi-Wan’s hot ire; it was a rare sight, remnants of the temper Obi-Wan had carried so close to the surface as an initiate, before he had learnt to properly control his feelings. Seldom had he ever yelled at Anakin, even when his Padawan had more than deserved it. His disappointment and anger had shown themselves in cold silence, in extra meditation and tedious chores. 

Obi-Wan could not ground Anakin like a child anymore, could not punish him with unpleasant tasks. His disappointed silence hadn’t deterred his Padawan’s wrongdoings in the past, so perhaps a change in method was needed. If shouted words got through Anakin’s thick skull, then by the Force, Obi-Wan would yell himself hoarse. 

“Do you have any idea what you put us through?” His hands were still gripping the tabard, keeping Anakin’s back firmly pressed against the wall. “I taught you to be better than a reckless, thoughtless, _suicidal fool_!” 

“_Master_,” Anakin rasped. He raised his head, looking straight at Obi-Wan, bright eyes conveying sincere remorse. “I’m sorry I frightened you.” He was shivering slightly in Obi-Wan’s hold. 

Obi-Wan took a deep breath, letting the last dregs of anger trickle out of him into the Force, his fury suddenly depleted and useless. He did not let go of Anakin, nor did his Padawan try to break his hold. “What were you thinking?” He asked, voice now quiet but full of raw feeling he couldn’t quite mask. “Are you trying to get yourself killed? Because Anakin, I’m this close to getting you declared unfit for active duty.”

“I thought – I didn’t…” Anakin struggled to speak, silently pleading for Obi-Wan to understand. 

“What?” Obi-Wan eased his grasp on Anakin’s clothing, moving one of his hands to gently cup Anakin’s neck. “_Tell me_.” It was both a command and a plea. They both knew the tipping point had come: it was time for Anakin to speak, to tell Obi-Wan what had been wrong since they had left Praadost.

Anakin tilted his head forward, his forehead coming to rest against Obi-Wan’s. He couldn’t see Anakin’s eyes anymore, but his friend’s voice quivered with barely held back emotion. “It’s over…my marriage. Padmé doesn’t…she doesn’t want to be with me anymore.” 

“_Oh Anakin_,” Obi-Wan murmured, not knowing what else to say. His Padawan’s shields were cracking, Anakin’s pain and sorrow seeping into Obi-Wan’s mind, making him ache in sympathy. Anakin shuddered and fisted his hands in Obi-Wan’s robes. A harsh sound was torn from him, and with a startle Obi-Wan realized it was a sob. Anakin had not cried in his Master’s arms in many years; instead he had held his tears a secret since his childhood, too embarrassed and proud to let Obi-Wan see them, perhaps fearful of judgement. 

Not hesitating, Obi-Wan drew Anakin into a tight embrace, wrapping his right arm securely around him and keeping the other as an anchor on Anakin’s neck. “It’s going to be alright, Padawan,” Obi-Wan promised. He let all his feelings show through their bond, open for Anakin to see and hear: how sorry he was about what had happened, how he wanted nothing more than to ease Anakin’s misery, how he was certain that Anakin would be fine – Obi-Wan would help him be.

It was like the floodgates were finally opened after a long deluge; Anakin shook and wept in Obi-Wan’s arms, holding fiercely onto him, face partly hidden against his Master’s shoulder. Obi-Wan continued to reassure Anakin through their bond, and mumbled soothing words into his ear, fingers slowly rubbing his cold neck. _It’s going to be alright. I’m right here. You are going to be fine._

After a short time, Anakin’s trembling lessened and the muffled sounds of his crying ceased. For a moment, he was completely still and silent against Obi-Wan, gathering his composure. Then he released his hold on his Master’s robes, taking a small step back. Obi-Wan let him go. 

“Sorry,” Anakin muttered, clearly embarrassed. He wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his tunic. “I didn’t mean to blubber all over you.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Obi-Wan said. “You don’t have any reason to be.” Wanting to give Anakin more space, he went to sit on the munition box, purposely relaxing his posture.

Anakin’s smile was small and sad. He leant against the wall, meeting Obi-Wan’s gaze unflinchingly. “Maybe not for this, but there’s so many things I’m sorry for. I’m sorry I lied to you, Obi-Wan – I’m sorry that I lied to you about my relationship with Padmé and everything else. I thought…well, I was just afraid.” 

“I know.” Anakin had already apologized as they had joined minds in the unity of deep meditation, but it still felt good to hear those words aloud. 

“I’m sorry I hurt you,” Anakin confessed hoarsely. “I’m sorry I hurt Padmé. You two are the most important people in my life and I…I never wanted to hurt either of you. But somehow I did – I made such a mess of everything.”

“I forgave you, Anakin,” Obi-Wan reminded his former Padawan gently. He truly had; he felt the truth of it now more strongly than ever, watching the disbelief and hope war on Anakin’s scrunched up face.

“Have you, really?” 

“You I know I have,” Obi-Wan answered firmly, leaving no room for any doubt. 

“Maybe you shouldn’t have – it would serve me right. A fitting punishment, all the people I lo – care about, gone from me.” There was a hard edge to Anakin’s voice, a mix of self-loathing and guilt. It made Obi-Wan frown in concern. 

“Why do you imagine so?” 

“I can’t help but think that Padmé giving up on our marriage is punishment for what I did to the Tusken Raiders. She said it was always on the back of her mind, that she’s not happy anymore, that she’s afraid I’m going to do something horrible again!” Anakin said in a rush, sounding wrecked. 

Obi-Wan was surprised that Padmé had known about Anakin’s slaughter of the Sand People right from the start – although it made sense, as she had been on Tatooine with him, when it happened. But still, he had not thought she could have brushed it aside for as long as she had. Clearly, she was not as principled as he had believed. 

Conscious of the harm wrong words could cause, Obi-Wan chose his next ones carefully. “I think you do a disservice to Padmé’s decision, if you simplify it to a mere punishment. No doubt the act played a part in the breaking up of your relationship, but surely there were other factors too. And in any case – it’s disingenuous to think that it is a fitting punishment for your crime.” As much as he wished to spare Anakin any further pain, Obi-Wan could not downplay his horrendous act. If he minimized the magnitude of the crime, then _he_ would be the one doing a disservice to his Padawan. 

Anakin hang his head, shame flooding their bond. “You’re right, Master.” 

“I fear I am also to blame for your misconception. I have been hesitant to talk about any possible consequences of your actions, but that was because I’m not quite certain myself what the next step should be…I realize now that was a mistake. You need to know what is going to happen, how we are going to move past this.” Obi-Wan berated himself for his avoidance; he had justified it to himself that it was better to weigh up the different alternatives thoroughly than to do something now that he might regret later. But perhaps his indecision had only been a symptom of a wish to evade any painful confrontations, a subconscious act of refraining from raising subjects that could potentially wedge a new rift between them. 

They were quiet for a moment, Anakin’s rasping breaths sounding loud in the silent room. Obi-Wan did not rush to fill the silence, waiting for his friend to put his churning thoughts into words. 

“There’s nothing I can do to make it right,” Anakin finally admitted, a hollow look in his eyes. “Nothing I can do to atone for it.”

“Even if that was true, it doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try,” Obi-Wan pointed out evenly. “Excuses, avoidance, forgetting. These are not options. You have to know _what_ you did and _why_ you did it – that’s the starting point. Without those truths, it is all too easy to follow a dark path again, make those same kinds of mistakes.” 

“So, more meditation then,” Anakin said resignedly. 

“Whatever gives you self-knowledge, helps you face those truths.” Meditation would also hopefully help Anakin process the break-up with Padmé and all the whirlwind of emotions it had raised. 

“Will you help me?” Anakin asked hesitantly, as if he was still unsure of Obi-Wan’s commitment to support him in any way possible. 

“Of course.”

“Padmé said I had to think who I am apart from her…who I wish to be,” Anakin mused quietly, like he was revealing a secret. “But I don’t know who I am anymore. I’m not…I’m not Padmé’s husband any longer, I never was a proper Jedi. I don’t…I don’t think the Order is a right place for me, not after everything I have done. All I know is that I can be useful in this war, I can be a general, I can win the battles and lead my men.”

It hurt to hear how lost Anakin felt, how the only place in the universe he was at home was the battlefield. Anakin’s doubts about his role as a Jedi was not news to Obi-Wan, but he had always assumed that those misgivings stemmed more from Anakin being at odds with the Council than from any strong desire to leave the Order. Anakin had fought and trained so hard to be a Jedi – to throw all that away seemed such a colossal waste. But was the Order a right place for Anakin, if it gnawed at his self-esteem, made him an outsider? 

Obi-Wan struggled to put his confused thoughts into words, not knowing how much he should say. Sensing that Anakin needed some kind of positive response, Obi-Wan told him those things he was absolutely certain of: “You are my Padawan – my friend – my brother. You are – Anakin, you are so many things. None of them perhaps simple and clearly defined, but all of them essential to me.” 

“Obi-Wan…_thank you_.” Anakin looked at him with such naked gratitude and fondness, it made Obi-Wan’s heart ache. “I don’t know what I would do without you.”

His stomach dropped; it suddenly felt like Obi-Wan was at some pivotal turning point, standing at the crossroads, where the direction he chose next would have far-reaching and definite consequences for them both.

Obi-Wan couldn’t help but feel uneasy, all of his Jedi training clamouring for moderation and caution and detachment, uncomfortable with the liberties and exceptions Anakin continued to draw from him. _Too much_, a part of him protested. Anakin should not rely on him so heavily, should not be so attached – they were both too close…too much to each other. 

The part of Obi-Wan, the one that still clung desperately to the Code that had been taught to him since he had been too young to even walk, wanted to say: _You would do well, Anakin – the Force is with you, you don’t need me_. But that part of him had grown smaller and quieter during the years and was now more easily than ever brushed aside by Obi-Wan’s own rampant _attachment_. 

Anakin needed him more than ever, and Obi-Wan would not let him fall. If Anakin felt unmoored, then Obi-Wan would be his anchor. 

“You’ll always have me,” he promised, meaning every word. 

\--

That night, Anakin again dreamt that he was standing in the Great Hall. It was empty and hollow like a carved-up heart. His footsteps echoed in the cavernous chamber; first loud like a shout, but the further he walked into the labyrinth, the more the sound quietened, until it died away completely. No shadow nor sound fell from him – he was less than a ghost, walking in the tomb of his brothers and sisters. 

As he strode through the deserted Jedi Temple, the silent walls enclosed him in their ancient protection. Time would erode even the rock, grumble the stone into dust, but the Temple would remain. Anakin knew it would forever stand in his mind tall and immovable, an integral part of him, like the hot sands of Tatooine. 

The large double doors waited him, wide open. Without hesitation, he stepped inside the Holocron Vault. Obi-Wan was there, standing in the middle of the room, like Anakin had known he would be. Next to Obi-Wan was a pedestal, and floating above it, the familiar crystalline cube. Slowly, the holocron turned round and round, pulsing blinding white light. His Master gazed at it like a drowning man, who looks to the faraway shore. 

“Time,” Obi-Wan said, sounding torn. “We need more time.”

“Master?” Anakin’s heart beat loudly, painfully. Something was going to happen – something –

Obi-Wan turned towards Anakin, looking right into him, into the very secret heart of him. He knew Anakin fully; every fault and pain, every desperate need and every dark thing. Every forbidden wish Anakin dared not name even in the deepest, blackest corner of his mind. 

“This will not happen. Anakin, this _cannot_ happen.” And yet Obi-Wan reached for Anakin, touching his cheek feather-light like a benediction, before resting his fingers against the back of Anakin’s neck. 

Anakin shivered, although Obi-Wan’s hands were warm. 

“_Master_,” Anakin murmured, meaning everything and nothing. 

Their heads tilted forward, towards each other, and their noses brushed. Anakin took one shuddering breath, the final breath before the plunge, and then their lips touched. Beneath the hot press of Obi-Wan’s mouth, Anakin’s lips were drawn into a smile. 

The kiss was a promise kept, and a promise for things to come. It lasted forever, and yet just an instant. 

It was only when they broke apart, Anakin noticed it was raining.

It was raining ash.


	5. Ossus, part I

“Good morning,” Obi-Wan said genially, the corners of his mouth turning upwards at the sight of Anakin standing in the doorway of the _Vigilance’s_ situation room. “Or strictly speaking it’s a very late night, but who’s minding?”

Anakin looked at his Master’s soft-looking lips and promptly flushed beet red. The dream he had seen was still too fresh on his mind, its odd ending like an itch that refused to go away. He forced himself to look at Obi-Wan square in the face, feeling like the dream-kiss was branded on his own forehead with big capital letters for all to see, undeniable proof of what his sick mind had conjured up.

“I might,” he mumbled, not having to feign tiredness. After waking up from _that_ dream, there had been no going back to sleep. He stepped inside the already crowded room, settling beside Rex. “I’m sure the Seps can wait another hour or two until I wake up properly.” 

“I’m afraid not, the enemy is still terribly inconsiderate of the amount of sleep we get.” Obi-Wan’s tone of voice was light, but his gaze, studying Anakin from head to toe, was razor-sharp. Anakin tightened his shields, not wanting his embarrassment and confusion to seep through their bond. 

“Really? I hadn’t noticed. We should lodge a complaint with the Separatist Council,” Anakin joked feebly, hoping he sounded close to normal. He tugged his crumpled tunic into place, and just barely refrained from running his fingers through his tangled hair, well aware that he looked like a mess. 

Obi-Wan frowned, eyes turning stormy grey. Anakin could see that his Master wanted to say something about Anakin’s current state of mind, but knew better than to press the issue in public. Just then, the last of the high-ranking officers slipped hurriedly into the room, and the meeting started in earnest. 

It was a good thing that Anakin’s brain could multitask, because while the rational, strategic part of him was listening attentively to the mission brief, his emotional inner self was busy freaking the kriff out. As Admiral Block was running through the key points of the blockade, Anakin was wondering why the strange but familiar dreamscape had changed into new unsettling weirdness. While Cody and Rex reviewed the preparations for the upcoming attack, Anakin agonized over the awkward path his unconscious mind had slipped into. When Obi-Wan reminded them of the importance of taking Ossus, Anakin thought, _I dreamed we kissed – what does that mean?_

Surely, he had never thought of Obi-Wan quite that way – he hadn’t! Of course, Anakin was not blind; he recognized, purely from an aesthetic, objective standpoint, that Obi-Wan was a handsome man. He could be wickedly funny, and he certainly was uncommonly kind and wise. All of that made him attractive to some, if not most, of the people he met. But Anakin did not think about Obi-Wan that way. Obi-Wan was his Master – alright, _former_ Master, but still the man who had practically raised him from the age of nine. He was Anakin’s dearest friend and brother in arms and to even think…no, Anakin was just confused. Dreams were dreams, and sometimes they held little sense or truth. 

“– kin? Anakin?” Obi-Wan’s rising voice slammed suddenly into Anakin’s consciousness, grinding his messy thoughts to an abrupt halt. 

“What?” He realized that sometime during Obi-Wan’s pep talk, he had obviously managed to zone out. Most of the officers had already left the room; only Rex and Cody were still talking quietly amongst themselves, and Obi-Wan was looking at Anakin inquiringly, his brow furrowed with familiar worry-lines. 

His Master sighed long-sufferingly, the sound one that Anakin had delighted in being the cause of in his teenage years. “You weren’t listening at all, were you?”

“Of course I was, Master. It’s vital we take Ossus, get the enemy on the run, blockade the kark out of their forces, good luck to us, hurrah, et cetera.” 

Obi-Wan gave him a withering look. “Yes, well. It was rather more eloquent than that.”

“I know it was,” Anakin teased, grinning. “I was listening to _every word_.”

Obi-Wan shook his head reproachfully, but his eyes were bright with silent laughter. Their effortless banter, the easy way their personalities slotted together, was the best balm for Anakin’s raw, bleeding heart. Padmé – her words, her face, the very syllables of her name – was a continuous ache deep in him, a pain so immense it threatened to crush and bury him every time he thought about it too much. It was a testament to the power of their friendship, that with Obi-Wan that galaxy-ending pain was, if not gone, then at least somehow manageable – masked – less. 

“As you are so very focused and prepared, my young Padawan,” Obi-Wan said wryly, “we have time for a short meditation before the attack.” 

“Actually, I thought I’ll have breakfast –”

“You can eat in the gunship,” Obi-Wan countered him mercilessly. 

It was not the most pleasant idea, but Anakin had managed to eat in far worse places and circumstances. Knowing it was his penance for his earlier inattention, he acquiesced without further protest and followed Obi-Wan into his Master’s cabin. They sat cross-legged in the middle of the floor, facing each other. They were so close, their knees almost touched. Even though they had no time for the deep joint meditation – nor had Obi-Wan even mentioned it after their one successful attempt – just this regular meditation in tandem was raising Anakin’s pulse with nervous anticipation. 

Obi-Wan, sensing Anakin’s hesitation, gently reassured him, “This is just to settle ourselves before the battle. When we have more time, we’ll deal with the – with everything else.” 

For once, Anakin wasn’t actually worried about the hard questions and truths he would have to thoroughly examine: his dark deeds, the unravelling of his marriage, the tempting and frightening darkness inside of him. He was more anxious that Obi-Wan would see _that_ dream in his mind, or more specifically, the kiss that was not really a kiss. That would be beyond humiliating. Anakin pushed the dream as far inside of himself as he could, resolving to forget it. It hadn’t meant anything, it had been born of his emotionally draining confession to Obi-Wan, of his wish to be closer to his best friend. 

They fell into meditation with the ease of long practice, breathing in sync deep and slow, eyes closed. Anakin reached for the Force that pulsed all around him, felt how it bound everything – him, Obi-Wan, their men, the whole galaxy – together with both light and darkness. Between him and Obi-Wan was their bond, and in the Force it was strong and vital and beautiful. Anakin took comfort from it, letting it momentarily calm his turbulent soul into a less stormy sea. 

He sensed Obi-Wan’s grounding serenity, the strength his friend drew effortlessly from the Force. There were hints of worry for Anakin, but they didn’t hinder nor overwhelm his Master’s mind. Luckily Obi-Wan clearly thought that the lingering embarrassment coming from Anakin’s part of the bond was because of his emotional breakdown the day before, and Anakin did nothing to disabuse him of that notion. In any case, there was some truth in that; Anakin did feel slightly mortified about his reaction, the way he had cried into his Master’s shoulder like a youngling. But in that moment, he had been only relieved to have gotten to unburden the heavy weight of _everything_, and that feeling of relief still held true. 

Anakin didn’t try to delve too deep into their bond, content to just feel Obi-Wan’s warm presence, the way his bright essence wrapped steadily around Anakin. The dark held no dominion over him now, driven away by his Master’s blinding light. _I wish it was always like this_, he thought wistfully. _That we could be each other’s shields and swords against anything._

Sometime later – much too soon for Anakin’s liking – he emerged from the mediation, spirit refreshed and mind more peaceful than it had been in weeks. Wordlessly, they rose from the floor and headed for the ventral hangar bay, shoulder to shoulder. Halfway there, Obi-Wan was stopped by a harried looking quartermaster, but Anakin continued on, smirking as his Master’s exasperation came through loudly through their bond. 

A mix of men from both of their battalions were in the hangar bay waiting for the go-ahead, most of the clones already in the gunships. Anakin checked with Rex and Cody that everything was in order, and gave his own designated larty a quick once-over, before hopping inside the _Lucky Lekku_. The troops welcomed him bobbing their helmeted heads, their sharp grins clearly visible in the Force. Anakin smiled back, just as cutting. They were ready to raise some serious hell. 

Obi-Wan appeared at the gunship’s open side door, smiling lopsidedly. He thrust a ration bar into Anakin’s hands. “You forgot your breakfast.”

Anakin crumpled his nose. “Yummy!” As he looked into Obi-Wan’s expressive eyes, his Master’s gaze matching the emotions conveyed by their Force connection – _be safe, don’t be too reckless, we’ll see each other soon_ –, Anakin felt his own face smooth into soft lines of gratitude. “Thanks. See you at dirtside.” 

Obi-Wan grasped him firmly by the forearm, and then Anakin’s Master was gone, stepping assuredly inside his own waiting transport. It was a scene Anakin had experienced numerous times, and it never failed to make his heart twitch from the sharp edge of fear. 

_This could be the last time I see him._

But no – Anakin had to trust in the Force. And if the Force failed them – well then, Anakin himself would just have to make sure that nothing happened to the people he loved. 

\--

Something tugged at his mind – like the distant rush of a crowd, the roar of a nearby sea. Barely there, it teased Obi-Wan’s spirit, whispering _we were we were we are_. 

Obi-Wan opened his eyes, blinking in the bright light. Perhaps he had dozed off for a moment. The rock he leaned against was jagged, but not nearly uncomfortable enough to deter him from trying to rest. His inner clock told him there was still time left, the break only halfway through. A few of his men were laying near him on the grassy slope, fully asleep, while others were quietly talking a little further upwards on the hill. 

The hums of the long-dead Jedi still chimed gently in the Force, although nothing else remained. During their long trek, there had been no visible traces of the Eye of Ashlanae. The mountainside held no ruins of the wide staircase, no stones from the grand entrance or pieces of the famous rooftop that had been etched with the design of a great eye. Obi-Wan had read descriptions of the ancient Jedi Temple that had once served as the headquarters of the Jedi High Council and a meditative retreat, but nothing but written history and the faint echoes in the Force remained of that part of the Order’s past. 

Nothing had outlived the utter devastation wrought upon the planet: the capital city Knossa had formed around the mountain slopes and fields that had surrounded the pyramid-shaped temple, but its ruins too had long ago been swallowed up by nature. Instead of the old city, Obi-Wan and his men were surrounded by rocky hills, small trees and bushes in full bloom. Far beneath the hillside lay a thick forest, living and green, wind carrying the sound of rustling leaves up the mountain. 

Time was a slow but steady healer, and the nature once again thrived, restoring the world to life, the tragedy of the past just that: a thing of the past. The temple, the city, the whole planet, had been destroyed thousands of years before by the Cron Supernova. The Sith weapon had created Cron Drift and had laid waste to the people and culture of Ossus, and since then there had been no settlements on the planet. But life had persevered, the _Force_ had remained. 

It gave Obi-Wan hope. When the war would be finally over, the tens of thousands of affected worlds would rebuild, life would go on. He would probably not be there to see it, but other Jedi would be. New younglings and initiates, ready to help the galaxy to heal from the deep, bloody rift torn between systems and planets and people. Doing what the Jedi were meant to do. They could once again be keepers of peace, not leaders of war. 

But first, the war had to _end_, either by them winning or losing – in truth it would most certainly be a complicated mix of both. _One step at a time_, Obi-Wan reminded himself, turning his thoughts to their current engagement. How did Ossus fit in the greater narrative of the galaxy-raging conflict?

Nothing but proximity to the important Perlemian Trade Route made Ossus worthwhile the long and miserable campaign they were mired in. After a month of vicious fighting, taking the enemy’s bases one by one, encountering tenacious resistance and dangerous counterstrokes, Obi-Wan was becoming increasingly worried that there was something else than its position on a star map that made the Separatists clung so tightly to the planet. 

“I could feel you brooding all the way down there, you know.” Anakin slumped down next to him, stretching his long legs. 

“I assume your patrol went well?” 

“Everything is quiet – not a peep from the clankers,” Anakin confirmed, his shoulder warm against Obi-Wan’s own. “So, what are you brooding about?” 

“Nothing,” Obi-Wan said reflexively, but as Anakin shot him an incredulous look, he continued, “Just…this place. Why Dooku makes us fight for every inch of it.”

“Because he can?” 

“Maybe,” Obi-Wan snorted. It seemed that the Separatists had infinite numbers of droids to flung against their depleting flesh and blood troops; it was entirely possible that Dooku wanted to bleed the Republican forces dry before abandoning the Adega system. Although they were slowly but steadily advancing against the enemy, so much so that the Seps’ defeat in Ossus seemed a foregone conclusion, Obi-Wan knew better than to count his chickens before they had hatched. 

“But you don’t think it’s that?” Anakin asked perceptively, tuned into Obi-Wan’s misgivings. 

He sighed and admitted, “I can’t help but think there is something else.”

“You mean something having to do with the Jedi? But there’s nothing left of the temple or the library.” 

“No,” Obi-Wan agreed, but a shiver of irrational doubt made his muscles tense. 

In addition to the temple, the planet had also been home to the Great Jedi Library. During thousands of years, the bastion of knowledge had amassed a truly impressive collection to rival the present-day Archives in Coruscant. Obi-Wan could see all too well why Dooku would be interested in the heritage of Ossus. Seizing a world that once held enormous importance to the Jedi was only the cherry on top of the cake; not all that was stored in the library had been of Jedi origin. There had been plenty of things that the Sith would consider their own. 

However, few of the texts and artefacts had survived the destruction of the planet, and those that had, had long ago been found by the archaeological teams sent to the site. Surely, there was nothing left of that knowledge? And then there were the Adegan crystals…

“You’re thinking about the crystals,” Anakin said, certain of the direction of Obi-Wan’s thoughts. They had been much more attuned to one another after they had begun to meditate together every day. 

Obi-Wan had been refreshing his knowledge of Ossus’ extensive history every chance he got, which granted was not that many. Between leading his own battalion and commanding the Third Systems Army, making sure Anakin and their troops were as well as they could be on an active battleground, there was no time for much else – not if Obi-Wan also wanted to sleep now and then. But he had read about the crystals originating from the Adega system, and could tell Anakin how “they are extremely rare. Most of them were mined long ago; there are only a few written accounts of crystals being found from caves in these mountains after Knossa was established. I doubt any are left.” 

“Yeah, but I can see that even a thought of finding one would make Dooku salivate. They are supposed to make the best lightsaber blades.” Anakin’s words made Obi-Wan smile slightly. Of course, his Padawan would know about anything that could better their ancient weapon. Obi-Wan had lost count on how many times Anakin had tweaked his own lightsaber during the years. 

“According to the lore, yes. The Force shares a special connection with the Adegan crystal. But no living Jedi has such a crystal in their lightsaber. There is one small crystal shard in the Archives, but to my knowledge all other crystals have been lost.”

“Then Dooku is hunting ghosts. How unfortunate for him,” Anakin said smugly. “Now, stop thinking so hard. I want to catch some sleep.” He nudged Obi-Wan playfully in the ribs. 

“You could nap elsewhere,” Obi-Wan suggested.

“Nah,” Anakin said lightly, leaning more heavily into Obi-Wan. “I like your shoulder best.”

“Lucky me,” Obi-Wan said wryly, but they both knew he did not mind in the least. Indulgent, he wrapped his arm around Anakin, his friend burrowing his tousle-haired head into Obi-Wan’s shoulder. 

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, letting the worry about Dooku’s possible doings in Ossus trickle from his mind. The bond between him and Anakin pulsed with calm and contentment. To Obi-Wan’s relief, recently his former Padawan seemed to be in a better state of mind; it was as if Anakin’s teary confession had been the culmination of his desperation and grief, and now those feelings, although still present in Anakin, were muted and controlled. Obi-Wan attributed that in large part to their daily meditation sessions together. Even if they had just a few minutes of downtime per day, Obi-Wan insisted they meditated to settle themselves and each other. 

This too – allowing himself to slowly sink into a hazy half-sleep with Anakin tucked at his side – was another kind of meditation. A state of peace that was precious because of its rareness. The sun was warm on his face; the grass was soft under him; Anakin’s presence beside him and in his mind was steady, grounding. Somewhere near, there were blooms that smelled like a particular yellow flower that grew back home in one of the Mediation Gardens. The scent twined around Obi-Wan, like a half-forgotten memory; _we were we were we are_.


	6. Ossus, part II

The soft pitter patter of rain against the dense foliage was a soothing undertone to Anakin’s roaming thoughts. The night air smelled wet and new; the myriad scents of different flora were uncommonly sharp, every part of the greenery eagerly soaking up the fresh water. Anakin pulled off the glove from his flesh hand, and stuck his arm outside the cave’s overhang. The rain hit his bare palm, trickled down his fingers, the sensation smooth and curious. 

Still, after all that time, rain was a miraculous novelty to Anakin. Perhaps something in him would always marvel at everything that differed from the arid and hot landscape of his childhood; the silhouette of sand dunes and wide canyons was etched upon his soul, coloured with browns and the rust-red of dried blood. 

The water did not feel cold. Nothing in Ossus was cold. 

Even during the night, it didn’t get too chilly. In fact, the planet’s climate was almost opposite of Tatooine’s to be near perfect: temperate and mild, it was mostly not-too-hot sunshine, the regular rain showers gentle and welcome. A large part of the terrain was forests and hills nestled between broad mountains that were dotted with caves; infinitely better and easier than most of the places where they had fought, lacking the much-hated mud and sand. It was also blessedly empty of any sentient beings other than small animals. For once, they didn’t have to balance between keeping the civilians safe and effectively attacking the enemy. 

Obi-Wan, who had been immersing himself with anything related to Ossus’ history, had told Anakin that although the planet’s population had been decimated by the Cron Supernova, there were unsubstantiated rumours that some of the people had survived. Archaeological teams had encountered unexplained happenings like weird noises in the night, missing gear and breaking machinery, dark shadows stalking just out of sight. Most had dismissed their experiences later as auditory and optical illusions, coincidences and simply bad luck. However, the leader of one team of Jedi archaeologists had presented an outlandish theory: according to her, some of the Jedi in Ossus had survived the destruction wrought upon the planet, taking refuge in the large network of caves that was said to run beneath Ossus’ Jedi temple. During the many centuries those people had regressed, forming a wholly new primal society in the deep, continuing to guard their ancestors’ temple… 

Anakin shuddered, thinking what life would have been like, hiding in the caves in the darkness, unable to go out to the open air, everything above the ground barren and toxic. Year by year, generation by generation, forgetting who you were, where you came from, _why_ you were. 

Perhaps some had managed to survive, but he doubted any were alive now. The Force was different in Ossus than anywhere else he had been; there was an echo under the normal pulse of the Force, a persistent hum partly hidden beneath the Force signatures of the living men around him. But it was only a memory – an imprint of the past. For them who were not Force-sensitive, it was easy to make ghosts of something they could not understand.

They were right in a way. Nothing remained but ghosts, and that was to the Republic’s advantage. The Separatists couldn’t use ghosts as shields against them like they could living civilians. Besides, the enemy fought viciously enough as it was. If it hadn’t been for the hard fighting that had cost several of his and Obi-Wan’s men, Anakin could have been content in Ossus. He liked the place, ghosts and all.

A large part of that liking was the new comfortable rapport between him and Obi-Wan. During the two months on the planet, they had settled into an easy day-to-day routine of meditating and waging war together, their bedrolls and rucksacks always right next to each other. Their camaraderie was effortless, their shared rhythm on the battlefield natural as breathing. Their Force connection bright and clear, they would have been attuned to each other’s moods and thoughts even had they been many leagues apart. 

Nevertheless, Anakin was glad there had been no reason for them to separate. He liked to have Obi-Wan near him; more than ever before, his Master’s closeness felt like a necessity, a prerequisite for Anakin’s steady peace of mind. It was a very un-Jedi-like sentiment; he didn’t particularly care. He simply felt more calm, _safe_, with Obi-Wan at his side. 

Their closeness in the Force was mirrored in the physical world: shoulders bumping and leaning, forearms knocking, hands brushing. These small familiar touches had increased and grown. Now there were also Obi-Wan’s fingers combing through Anakin’s messy hair, Anakin’s hand pressed into the small of Obi-Wan’s back. His Master’s arm around him as Anakin slept. 

Perhaps their deepening closeness would be concerning to some – it most certainly would have concerned the Jedi Council had they known – but to Anakin it felt _right_, like their relationship was finally as it always should have been. 

It didn’t escape him that their new-found closeness had formed only when Anakin’s relationship with Padmé had unravelled. Some would have thought it was because Anakin was now leaning fully only on Obi-Wan, having lost the support Padmé had given. At the worst, Anakin could be thought to have transferred his need for closeness to his former Master, focusing all that _unseemly attachment_ to Obi-Wan instead. Maybe there was a tiny bit of truth in that, but the thing was, Anakin had always craved this closeness with Obi-Wan, had always been attached to his Master. That was nothing new. What had changed was how Obi-Wan responded to it, even reciprocated it. Anakin was mature enough to recognize that Obi-Wan’s positive reaction didn’t stem from his former Padawan’s breakup with Padmé and the resulting hurricane of feelings, but from Anakin’s own _honesty_. 

They never could have been this close before, when both of them had been keeping things – Anakin most of all – from one another. 

He should have told Obi-Wan the truth about Padmé, about the Sand People, from the start. He should have trusted that his Master would always be on his side, even when he didn’t condone Anakin’s actions. Obi-Wan had made it very clear that he would continue to support Anakin, despite what happened with the Jedi Council. They had come to an agreement regarding Anakin’s secrets: when the war was over, Anakin would tell everything to the Council. It would be up to them to mete punishment as they saw fit. 

It was debatable whether Anakin would survive the war to be punished – Obi-Wan had glowered at him, when Anakin had shared that particular merry thought – but nevertheless, the knowledge of the consequences was an odd relief. If he made it to the end of the war, he would take whatever punishment he was given, recognizing it never would be enough to wipe his soul clean of the massacre. And although Anakin did not deserve it, his Master would be there at his side. 

Who knew, perhaps by then Anakin would have found the answers to the questions Padmé had drawn forth. _Who am I without her? What do I want to be? Am I a Jedi or something else? Who is Anakin Skywalker?_

These questions continued to gnaw at him, and yet, there were still no clear answers. After constantly thinking about them during daily meditation sessions and rare pensive moments alone, Anakin had some new insights into himself, most soberingly unflattering. 

He sighed, putting his glove back on. It was late, and he didn’t wish to spend the rest of the night brooding. Turning back into the cave, Anakin cast a look over the surprisingly peaceful scene: most of the clones were sleeping, couple of them even faintly snoring. The tide had turned a week ago, and the Seps were now mostly fleeing, only bothering to put up a cursory defence. His troops’ moral had begun to rise, thanks to their losses declining and because all of them had gotten steadily more rest. 

The cave was large, easily sheltering a platoon of men. Most of their forces were spending the night in similar caves, the mountainside full of them. Anakin nodded to a trooper, who was on watch, moving further into the cave. He didn’t have to go far; although there were a few tunnels that branched forwards into the mountain, the cave itself was not particularly deep. 

At the very back of their shelter, Obi-Wan had made a sleeping place next to the mouth of a narrow tunnel, both of their bedrolls already neatly spread out side by side. Sitting cross-legged, he was reading a datapad in the faint light of a glowlamp, absentmindedly taking bites from his half-eaten ration bar. 

“You done reading?” Anakin kept his voice low. 

“Hmm…Are you done thinking?” Obi-Wan did not raise his eyes from the datapad. 

“Yeah, I’m done,” Anakin proclaimed, suddenly weary. He plopped down into his bedroll, encasing himself in the threadbare blanket, still fully dressed. 

“Just a moment,” Obi-Wan muttered, but Anakin had already closed his eyes, a pleasant haze settling upon his mind. Sometimes thinking was _more_ draining than fighting. He let any lingering thoughts about his identity and future dissolve into the night, and focused on listening to the soft echoes in the Force. 

Not long after, even half-way in a dream, Anakin felt his Master settle down next to him. As Obi-Wan’s arm twined around his waist, Anakin smiled and finally fell into a deep sleep. 

\--

The sun had risen higher, casting the shadow of the mountain upon the temple. He climbed the wide stairs up, the worn stone smooth under his bare feet, cool to the touch. Up and up he climbed, towards the Great Eye. His brothers and sisters chanted,

_we were we were_   
_we are we are_   
_we’ll be we’ll be_

Above them, the sky opened, infinite. Time turned around them, from day to night to day. Planets courted the sun; the moons waxed and waned. Stars swirled and danced and died. 

Still he climbed upwards, he climbed until he was down, down, down deep. He was in the shadow of the mountain, the stone rough and cold. He could still hear the song of his brethren, but it was faint, growing weaker with every step. 

With him were only shadows. They had lost the sky. Time stood still, eternal night. 

Still he climbed, down to the deep, until finally he reached the secret of the mountain. He stepped inside the cave, the water mirroring the dark. Slowly, he opened his hands. The crystalline cube was full of white light, blinding him. Heart full of joy, he whispered the truth:

_once we were_   
_now we are_   
_always we’ll be_

\--

Obi-Wan didn’t so much startle awake from the dream as one moment he was standing in a dark cave and holding the holocron, and the next he was laying on his bedroll in the midst of sleeping clones. His heart was steady, but the more he thought about what he had seen, the quicker it started to beat. 

Anakin shifted against him. “Master, I had the strangest dream.” 

“I had one too,” Obi-Wan murmured, trying to settle himself in the Force, calm down his overactive mind. The Force swirled around him almost impatiently, the echoes louder, more insistent. 

“I was in the Temple…here…” Anakin’s sleep-rough voice tapered off. Instead of using words, he reached for Obi-Wan through their bond, showing images from the dream – from _their_ dream. For it was exactly the one Obi-Wan had seen. _I dreamt of the same_. 

Anakin scrambled to sit on his knees, in the process dislodging Obi-Wan’s arm from around him. It was too dark to see the look on his face, but Obi-Wan could feel his Padawan’s urgent curiosity. _Master, can you feel it? Can you hear it?_

_Yes._

The Force was tugging at them, urging them to go forth into the mountain. The echoes were summoning them to seek – _here now now_. It was almost overwhelming in its intensity. For Anakin, who felt everything in the Force much more keenly, it had to be nigh unbearable. 

_We have to go – we have to investigate_. Anakin rose, and Obi-Wan hurried to stand up, his legs stiff and unwieldy. His former Padawan was already rashly turning towards the mouth of the closest tunnel, when Obi-Wan grabbed hold of his arm. 

_Wait a moment – let’s not needlessly scare our men by disappearing, yes?_

Anakin’s sheepish grin was clearly visible to Obi-Wan through their connection; their bond was open and active, their surface thoughts and feelings freely mingling. As Obi-Wan made his way carefully to the front of the cave, sidestepping sleeping men, Anakin’s impatience was like a slowly rising tide at the back of Obi-Wan’s mind. 

The clone on watch – _Bean_, Obi-Wan remembered – flinched slightly, hands reaching for his rifle, when Obi-Wan materialized silently from behind him. Instantly recognizing his general, Bean relaxed, although Obi-Wan’s explanation of where he and Anakin were about to venture made the clone once again tense up. 

“No need to wake anyone,” Obi-Wan stressed quietly. “If we’re not back by wake-up call, tell Cody and Rex to continue as planned. We’ll catch up.” To the trooper’s credit, his whispered _Yes, Sir_ sounded only a little incredulous. 

When Anakin stepped inside the pitch-black tunnel, Obi-Wan was right behind him. An instant later, Anakin’s lightsaber hummed to life, the blue blade lighting their way. The stone walls were rough, occasional protruding rocks jabbing them sharply; the breadth of the cramped tunnel was just barely the width of Anakin’s shoulders. They had only walked a short way, when the ceiling lowered, until finally first Anakin, and then Obi-Wan, had to bend down or risk slamming their heads against the hard stone. 

They continued stubbornly onwards, and soon Anakin was almost bent double and walking sideways as the tunnel walls steadily closed in on them. Obi-Wan, who had been in plenty of tight spots – both figuratively and literally – started to wonder if they were simply too large to continue much further on. They could have really used Ahsoka and her petite frame…

The bond resonated with bittersweet agreement; Anakin had caught the stray thought, and as usual, thinking about Ahsoka made his friend ache with sadness and regret. To be fair, Anakin was not alone in these feelings, for even though Obi-Wan had worked hard to accept Ahsoka’s new path and the events that had led to it, he still missed her and worried about her. She had been such a bright spot in their lives. Officially she had been Anakin’s Padawan, but Obi-Wan too had taught her, had looked out for her and had watched her grow. He had felt responsible for her. 

Ultimately, Ahsoka was the one responsible for herself, and she had made her choice. She had left the Jedi, and it was a decision Obi-Wan would continue to respect. He only hoped that he could hold the same view, if Anakin someday decided to walk away from the Jedi Order. If that ever happened, Obi-Wan knew it would test him to his very core. He could imagine all too well the ache that Anakin leaving the Jedi – _leaving him_ – would cause him. The chances of Anakin leaving voluntarily were perhaps now fewer because Anakin and Padmé had separated, and to his disgust, Obi-Wan couldn’t help but be glad. Quickly and guiltily, he hid that thought behind his strongest shields, not wanting Anakin to see any part of it. 

And if Anakin was forced to leave the Jedi, if the Council banished him from the Order…

“_Kark! Kriffing kriff!_” Anakin’s frustrated howl startled Obi-Wan from his uncomfortable musings. Anakin seemed to be well and truly stuck, his right shoulder wedged painfully in the much too narrow gap between the walls. Obi-Wan took a hasty step backwards as the blue blade, still clutched tightly in Anakin’s left hand, swayed dangerously as the young man tried to push and heave himself aggressively forward. 

“Anakin, for Force’s sake! I’d like to keep all of my limbs attached to my body,” Obi-Wan barked. 

“Yeah, you and me both,” Anakin muttered sullenly, but he switched off his weapon immediately, plunging them into total darkness. Not knowing for certain where his former Padawan – and his long flailing limbs – were, Obi-Wan opted to leave his own saber unlit and safely tucked into his belt. 

The Force still felt uncommonly insistent; a wordless hum of anticipation and yearning urged them to continue. It was challenging to delay in the face of such clear summons from the Force, but it was something they should have done from the beginning. They should have thought a better plan, or at least an alternative approach, if this one proved to be impossible – as it obviously already had. 

“We should turn back and –”

“No, I can fit in,” Anakin interrupted mulishly. The scraping sounds coupled with Anakin’s small grunts revealed that he was furiously trying to free himself. 

“Anakin –”

“I can do this!” Obi-Wan’s infuriating Padawan was still trying to fit his large form through the much smaller crack; suddenly there was a ripping sound, a yelp and a thump. 

“Anakin?”

“I’m free and on the other side,” Anakin announced gleefully as if he had managed a great feat.

“_Fantastic_,” Obi-Wan drawled. Anakin ignited his lightsaber, and Obi-Wan could see the tiny, torturous-looking gap left between the jagged walls that he would have to squeeze through. _Just fantastic_. 

“The tunnel is much wider and higher here,” Anakin assured him, his sullen mood gone like it had never been at all. “Come on, Master!” 

Obi-Wan, used to his friend’s mercurial temper, settled for a scowl. “There’s probably plenty of tight passages ahead, maybe a dead end. We should go back and think this through.” 

“Obi-Wan, I know this is the right way.” The blue light was reflected in Anakin’s eyes, adding a captivating, almost otherworldly sheen to his earnest gaze. Anakin’s absolute certainty trumped over Obi-Wan’s doubt. His Padawan’s wordless plea – _trust me, we have to go forward_ – silenced any protests Obi-Wan had been ready to make. Neither of them raised the idea of Anakin continuing ahead and Obi-Wan going back; that was not an option. 

“Well, at least you’ll be the one to get stuck first – although then _I’ll_ have to watch your undignified wiggling and squirming,” Obi-Wan sighed, resigning himself to a long night of crawling in the dark. 

“Oh please, seeing me wriggle my ass? That’s practically a free show you’re getting.”

The flippant comment caused a blush to spread on Obi-Wan’s cheeks; he was grateful that the dimness hid his inexplicable reaction from Anakin. “Yes, a show of ridiculousness,” he managed to fire back wryly, although his throat was oddly dry. 

Anakin snorted, but didn’t continue the banter, too eager to carry on exploring the tunnel onwards. Obi-Wan squirmed and writhed through the gap unscathed, but to his utter consternation managed to tear the sleeve of his sole, moderately good tunic. Luckily that was the only loss they suffered as they laboriously made their way deeper into the mountain; although the journey felt long, finally the tunnel ended. They came upon a cave, and knew immediately they had come to the right place. 

The space was round-shaped, its ceiling arching much higher than the tunnel that had led to it. The cave was empty save for the pool of water in the middle. Moonlight glinted from the surface of the dark water; straight above the pool, very high up, was a perfectly round hole, the sky peeking through. Sometime during their trek, the rain had stopped and the clouds had parted to reveal the brilliant dark veil pierced with stars. 

_I have been here before_, Obi-Wan thought, not surprised in the least. The Force twined around them, expectant and content. _In the dream_. 

As Anakin bent over the pool, watching his slightly distorted reflection, a sudden splash of colour caught Obi-Wan’s eye. The walls were completely covered with moss and fungus, with serpentine vines and small plants. The dimly lit cave’s colour palette was made of greys and dark greens and browns, but there, peeking beneath the moss, was a little patch of sharp white. 

Curious, Obi-Wan carefully cleared some of the moss away, scraped most of the dirt off. The white grew bigger, became a familiar shape – stunned, he stared at the painting. 

“_Incredible_,” Obi-Wan whispered, eyes fixed on the precise lines of the holocron.


	7. Ossus, part III

The sun had already travelled to its apex, when Anakin climbed the last stretch of the upwards slope to reach the cave, where they had taken shelter five nights ago. In daylight, it looked just a regular cave on the mountainside, not differing from other caves in any way, nothing giving away that inside was the entrance to the narrow tunnel leading to the secret chamber. It had not been an accident or good luck that had led them first to the cave and then to the peculiar place deep in the mountain – no, in hindsight it was obvious that the Force had steered them there from the beginning. 

At the mouth of the cave, Sergeant Traix and the rest of the squad snapped into attention, when they saw Anakin coming. Combat readiness was too ingrained in the clones for them to slack in their duty, however bored they were – and they _were_ bored; Anakin could feel their hope he had come to relieve them from their dull post. No such luck for them, although Anakin could sympathize. It must have been tedious to guard a cave, when rest of your brothers were hard at work mopping up the remaining Seps. 

“General Skywalker,” Traix greeted Anakin, clearly eager for news, but too polite to start asking questions from his superior. 

Trooper Fluke had no such inhibitions. “Sir, are we moving on? How is the fighting?” 

“I’m not sure I can call it fighting,” Anakin answered, grinning. “We’re scrapping clankers that have been left behind, most of them even more slow and dim-witted than usual. Don’t worry, you are not missing anything exciting.” 

“How long before we can join the others?” Blades asked, putting into words what they all wanted to know. 

Anakin looked inside the dim cave, now empty of anything but the squad’s gear. “That’s General Kenobi’s decision,” he reminded them. Speaking of Obi-Wan… ”He’s still inside then?” 

“Yes sir. He came out yesterday evening for a moment, then went back,” Traix said, confirming Anakin’s suspicions. No doubt Obi-Wan had only emerged from inside the mountain to make his daily call to Anakin – one of the conditions Anakin had set, before grudgingly leaving with their troops to hunt the remaining Separatists. 

The worry, which had sat heavily at the bottom of his stomach for five days, made itself known by squeezing his insides. Anakin did not like one bit that Obi-Wan was alone in the strange chamber, the mountain effectively blocking any communications to and from him. He liked even less that they had separated, Anakin leading their troops while Obi-Wan had stayed behind to examine the painted walls. And he absolutely detested that he had been made to sleep alone, without his Master’s reassuring warmth, for the first time in weeks – _kark_ the ancient people of Ossus and their mysterious doodles. 

Although, it was not as if Anakin had been completely cut off from Obi-Wan. They maintained a constant awareness, a base knowledge of each other through their bond. He would have known, if something was truly wrong with his Master. However, Anakin was equally aware, that Obi-Wan had a tendency to mask his more negative moods, hide troubles and difficulties he deemed inconsequential from his former Padawan. And so, Anakin worried. 

He nodded to the clones and strode unerringly to the back of the cave, to the dark entrance of the tunnel. Cursing silently, he ducked inside. The tunnel was even more narrow, its ceiling lower than he had remembered. As Anakin struggled forward, he wished that he could ease the cumbersome passage with a little Force push, or with a well-placed cut of his lightsaber. However, Obi-Wan had sensibly pointed out that they still knew too little of the structure of the mountain to risk broadening the tunnel in any way. Despite his frustration, Anakin could concede that accidentally bringing down half the mountain upon them would not be ideal. 

With a couple of new scratches richer, Anakin finally reached the chamber. It was the first time he had seen the place during the day; his breath caught in his throat. 

Sunlight spilled from the round hole in the high ceiling, the light dancing on the surface of the pool. The water glimmered, nearly transparent. The light flowed towards the walls, not quite reaching them; from the shadows green vines and thick moss stretched to the sun, humming with life. The place looked and felt ancient, magical. 

Obi-Wan was studiously inspecting one of the walls, two glowlamps at his feet. Anakin smirked impishly: his Master was so focused on his work, Anakin was certain he could take him completely by surprise. Just as Anakin was opening his mouth to say something clever, Obi-Wan remarked, “Shouldn’t you be taking care of that last stronghold?”

So much for that surprise. “Rex was starting to get bored, I figured I’d give him the lead.” 

Obi-Wan turned away from the wall, facing Anakin with raised eyebrows. 

Anakin shrugged his shoulders, admitting, “Alright, Rex was getting ready to shoot me, so I made myself scarce.” The more Anakin had fidgeted and sighed, the less subtle were Rex’s hints that perhaps Anakin should go help General Kenobi. Never one not to follow a suggestion, when it was what he wanted in the first place, Anakin had gladly left his troops in his second in command’s more than capable hands.

“_That_ I can believe,” Obi-Wan said, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly upwards, belying his serious expression. However, the familiar smile Anakin anticipated failed to materialize, and his Master’s lips settled back into a sombre line. “Even so, I do not think it wise we’re both here. If the enemy were to regroup or get reinforcements…”

“Rex and Cody can handle it, and Admiral Block has this planet locked tighter than a Wookiee’s – er, tight,” Anakin argued, noting how prominent the creases were around Obi-Wan’s eyes even in the half-light. It was obvious that his Master had been so absorbed in trying to solve the mystery of the holocron, he had neglected proper sleep and fresh air. It only confirmed that Anakin had made the right call: Obi-Wan needed him more than the troops did.

His Master did not contradict him, only sighed resignedly. With growing displeasure, Anakin took in Obi-Wan’s dishevelled and tired countenance. Strands of auburn hair fell limply across his forehead, and the complexion that had been healthy and slightly tanned from Ossus’ sun now looked wan and lifeless. It occurred to Anakin that perhaps it was not so easy to sleep in a place that echoed with the past lives of those that had long ago died. 

“Well, in truth, there isn’t much to do here anymore.” Obi-Wan turned his gaze back to a section of the wall that had been carefully cleaned from the vegetation. “Some of the colours are too faint, the paint too brittle to see the pictures. I’m afraid to unearth much more of them without proper tools. I might damage them beyond repair.” 

Anakin, hating the slight note of defeat in his Master’s voice, hastened to remind Obi-Wan: “Master Kyuun is already on his way. He’ll uncover them all.” Neither Obi-Wan nor Anakin had the skills nor the time needed for the proper study of the chamber; Master Kyuun, who had not left the Temple in well over a decade, had been dispatched to Ossus after a lengthy debate. It was a testament of how important the Council considered the find, that they had sent one of the rare Jedi scholars versed in archaeology. 

“Yes,” Obi-Wan conceded quietly. “I just fear it may take too much time.” 

Anakin knew what he meant. The urgency in the Force, although somewhat abated, was still there, the murmur of _here here now_ tickling the edges of their senses. “It’s only this place.” Anakin gestured around him haphazardly, referring to the walls, the paintings, the pool – the whole peculiar chamber. 

“Perhaps,” Obi-Wan murmured. 

“Do you think this place is what the Separatists came here to find? Or I guess not this place specifically, but any knowledge of the holocron?”

“One might think that.”

“Well, what do _you_ think?” Anakin asked, knowing that it helped Obi-Wan to organize his thoughts, if he could speak – _lecture_ – his ideas out loud. 

Obi-Wan stepped next to the painting of the holocron; the white lines that had first caught his Master’s notice were more distinct now, the rest of the picture having been revealed from beneath the grime and the undergrowth. Crudely drawn, it was nonetheless clear what the painting depicted: on a dark pedestal, there was a cube-shaped object, emitting white light. 

“There are numerous holocrons, of course. Their features are fairly similar; there is no certain way to identify this one,” Obi-Wan began, hand sneaking to scratch his unkempt beard. “However, _I think_ that this truly is a picture of our time-travel device. I believe it was kept here in Ossus, in the collections of the Great Jedi Library, or perhaps even in the Temple, beneath the Eye of the Ashlanae.”

Anakin quietly agreed. The simply drawn holocron could have signified any holocron Anakin had ever seen, if not for the dream that had led him and Obi-Wan to this chamber. The odd vision-dream had made it unequivocally clear: in the dream Anakin had held _the_ holocron in his hands, had known it was the very same one that had sent them careening through time, the one that was now safely locked inside the Holocron Vault on Coruscant. 

“Then the catastrophe happened.” Obi-Wan moved next to a new picture, one that covered almost the entire left wall. “These were clearly painted after the destruction of the planet, so some of the people did survive, and the holocron with them.” 

Anakin shuddered as he looked at the painting. Harsh strokes of blood-red paint depicted a crumbled tower, small figures laying prone beneath it. Yellow flames had swallowed several buildings, and more small figures had been painted inside them, their arms flailing. Black rocks rained down from the sky. On the bottom corner, there were three figures running away, one holding a tiny white dot.

Disturbed by the portrayal of the total ruin of Ossus, Anakin wondered, “Their whole world was destroyed. Why didn’t they use the holocron to change what had happened?” 

“Perhaps they tried and failed. Maybe the missing piece of the holocron had already been lost and they couldn’t control the jumps – like we couldn’t. Or maybe there was some other reason and they never tried,” Obi-Wan guessed, his voice tapering into silence. 

For a while they just looked at the picture, both of them lost in their own thoughts. Anakin thought about those that had survived the destruction only to be driven into the dark of the mountain. They had held the object that could have reversed time; they could have changed their bleak destiny, brought back those they had loved and lost. Yet, they had failed or been too afraid to even try. _They must have gone mad in the end._

“The tale continues here,” Obi-Wan said, stepping to the right. The next picture wasn’t nearly as clear as the others; its contours were indistinct and some of the painting was so dilapidated that part of the image was unrecognizable. Anakin could tell there were two kneeling figures, one holding the holocron above their head like a sacred offering. The other was raising their hands too, but if they held something, Anakin couldn’t tell. Time had erased that part of the story. 

Obi-Wan’s fingers hovered over the supplicating figures, tracing the lines of the raised arms without touching the paint. “They probably hid the holocron, guarded it. And then sometime during the long centuries, it was found.” 

“By whom?” 

Obi-Wan shrugged, but he had a theory about that too. “Most likely by one of the archaeological teams. The three that had the most digs here were University of Agamar, the Hanna Institute of Antiquities and the Academy of Jedi Archaeology. I contacted Master Nu and asked her to go over all the records the Archives has of these excavations and what were found.”

“I bet she liked that,” Anakin muttered, not having the best track record with the strict Chief Librarian. 

Obi-Wan, ignoring Anakin’s comment with the ease of a decade of practice, continued, “How the holocron ended up with the person, who left it for us to find – I don’t know. Perhaps they stole it from the archaeological findings of the University of Agamar or the Hanna Institute. The Academy of Jedi Archaeology was disbanded long ago, but their discoveries were stored in the Archives. I highly doubt the holocron was ever there, or we would have some knowledge of it.”

“All of this makes my head hurt,” Anakin complained only half-jokingly. He had no problem with misdirection and subterfuge in battle, but this convoluted tale had too many ifs and buts. 

“And to add to your headache by going back to your original question…” Obi-Wan smiled wryly, not sounding sympathetic in the least. “Perhaps the Separatists were hoping to find some useful artefacts on this planet, but I suspect they are not aware of the existence of the time-travel device. If they were, they would have ripped this whole system apart searching for it. To control that device…is to control the war.”

Anakin shivered; the air in the chamber suddenly seemed chilly. He was reminded how important it was that they located the missing piece of the holocron, even though he realized to his surprise that his own burning need to find it had abated. Although there were things he would undo if given the chance, he didn’t actually want to unmake the reality he was living in. In this time, his and Obi-Wan’s relationship was the best it had ever been – Anakin found himself unwilling to risk it in any way. 

“It’s only a theory, mind,” Obi-Wan added as an afterthought. But a theory from Obi-Wan was almost the same as fact. His Master had an uncanny ability to connect the tiniest of dots into a bigger picture that usually turned out to be correct. 

They lapsed into silence once more. Obi-Wan moved one of the glowlamps next to his bedroll and rucksack, drawing Anakin’s attention again to the lonely and sleepless nights his Master had doubtlessly spent in the chamber. He was glad there wasn’t anything they could do there anymore – the next night they would sleep under the wide sky filled with stars. 

But first, he would make Obi-Wan unwind, forget – as much as was possible – all about mysterious holocrons and missing pieces and Separatist scum. Looking at the pool, Anakin had a sudden bright idea. 

“Master, remember when we were in Tinnel IV?

Obi-Wan frowned. “Which time?” 

“The nice one,” Anakin answered, grinning. The answer really was self-evident; why on earth he would want to remember _that_ other visit…the less they ever talked about that, the better. ”We had that enormous suite to ourselves and even enough time to enjoy it.”

“Yes…” Obi-Wan began, clearly confused about what his former Padawan was getting at. 

Anakin started to take off his vambraces. “The suite had that huge opulent bathtub; it was a pool really.”

“How could I forget? You soaked there so long I feared you would grow scales,” Obi-Wan said wryly. 

“I was fourteen and all my limbs hurt all the time. But anyway, this reminds me of it.” Anakin nodded at the pool at the centre of the camber, removing his gloves briskly. Next, he took off his utility belt.

Now his Master was eyeing Anakin suspiciously. “What are you doing?”

Voice slightly muffled as he drew the tabard over his head, Anakin answered, “Taking a soak of course.”

“Here? Now?” Obi-Wan sputtered, sounding bemused.

Anakin undressed quickly, letting his clothes and boots fall into a messy pile. Stark naked, he dipped into the pool. The water was cool, but not as cold as he had expected. The sunlight must have warmed it sufficiently, and the regular rains kept it fresh. The pool was quite deep; as his toes touched the curiously smooth bottom, the water came to rest just below Anakin’s collarbone. Muscles instantly relaxing, he lounged against the side of the pool. 

Obi-Wan was staring at him; there was a look in his eyes Anakin could not decipher. It made something tighten in his belly. 

“Are you coming?” Anakin asked, keeping his tone light. Obi-Wan’s shields were firmly in place, and he could not tell if his Master was annoyed or amused by his spontaneous idea. 

Obi-Wan remarked dryly, “You realize that people most likely considered this a holy place? Therefore, it would make that a holy pool?”

Anakin laughed. “Even more reason to do this! Come on Master, how often do we get to take a proper bath?” When Obi-Wan still looked as if he had no intention of joining Anakin any time soon, Anakin added, “Are you too prudish, is that it? Is this _unproper_?”

The playful needling worked like a charm: Obi-Wan’s eyes narrowed, and Anakin knew he had won – his Master could not let a clear challenge go unanswered. 

Without uttering a word, Obi-Wan started to undress. Anakin basked in his victory, smugly wriggling his toes in the heavenly water, taking gleeful pleasure in how his Master took off his outer garments with sharp, irritated movements. And then Obi-Wan yanked his undertunic off, revealing a long expanse of bare skin, and Anakin found his ingenious idea had one major flaw. 

Mainly Anakin’s own stupid thoughts and the fact they refused to stay under his control. 

He had seen Obi-Wan in every state of undress – there was hardly any modesty in close quarters and none in the battlefield. Nudity had never been a problem for either of them, at least not with each other. Nakedness was natural and nothing to gawk at. And yet, now Anakin could not bear to look away, even if he knew instinctively that he should. Skin flushing with sudden heat, he watched as Obi-Wan stripped off the rest of his clothes, the familiar and ordinary action somehow turned into completely new, tantalizing and provoking. He only dropped his gaze – quickly, mortified – when Obi-Wan turned to look at him. 

Anakin only dared to raise his eyes after he heard and felt the splash of water. Obi-Wan was across from him, leaning against the other side of the pool. There was perhaps four metres between them, but it felt like there were hardly any distance between them at all. 

“You know what, this _was_ a good idea,” Obi-Wan said. His smile was warm, with a teasing slant. Anakin’s heart skipped a beat. 

The sunlight fell on Obi-Wan, spotlighting his features, making the familiar into unique. The flaming halo of hair, the sweep of long eyelashes, the lines of age around his disarming grey-blue eyes. The enticing curve of his strong neck and broad shoulders. Anakin thought about the dream again, the one where they had kissed. He wondered how it would feel like to kiss his Master’s bearded cheek, the hollow of his throat, trace those scars and marks on his chest. 

“You don’t have to sound so surprised,” Anakin muttered, trying desperately to mask his inner panic. “I have brilliant ideas, genius ideas. All the time – I have them. I just never get any credit, it’s always _that’s too crazy Anakin_ or _how do I even put up with you Anakin_ or _shut up Anakin_ –”

“Anakin…do shut up. You are ruining the moment.” Obi-Wan closed his eyes, and with a long sigh of obvious satisfaction sank even more into the water, until only his face remained above the surface. 

Anakin ceased babbling like a brainless idiot, shocked and dismayed. He could not deny any longer the obvious truth: he was _sexually_ attracted to his own former Master. He truly was the ultimate moron – and he was so very much, so very deeply _kriffed_.


	8. Phindar, Charros IV, Boz Pity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to wish all of you strength and hope in this difficult time. Hopefully this silly little chapter of pining Anakin will brighten your day just a little. I will keep writing - it for sure brightens my day to write about these two idiots in love.

Now Anakin had seen it, he could not _unsee_ it. 

The nerve tingling, stomach swooping attraction was constantly there, making him feel like falling – as exhilarated and on edge as if he was leaping from a Coruscanti skyscraper, plummeting through dense traffic at an impossible speed, through hundreds of levels, no end in sight. The attraction he had realized he felt for Obi-Wan circled his thoughts endlessly, making him in turns anxious and excited. If he managed to forget for a moment, something would soon remind him of it again: it seemed that even the small everyday things his Master did, were somehow now enough to awaken Anakin’s interest. 

The way the corners of Obi-Wan’s eyes crinkled when he was secretly amused, or his habit of stroking his beard absent-mindedly as he was thinking about their next strategy. The way Obi-Wan stood in the briefings, so unassuming but still so kriffing commanding, holding everyone’s attention easily. It was impossible not to take note of the small nicks and calluses on his fingers, the result of a lifetime of rigorous training and fighting. And the small scar at his hairline, usually hidden behind Obi-Wan’s neatly combed hair, always drew Anakin’s gaze like a magnet.

He catalogued zealously Obi-Wan’s every expression, noticing with a defeatist sort of acceptance that not even his Master’s familiar wry twist of lips left him unaffected: besides lifting his mood and grounding him, it now also roused completely new sensations in Anakin. Mainly, that he wanted to taste that smile, kiss those lips, quite desperately. So badly in fact that sometimes Anakin was amazed that the whole galaxy didn’t already know of his perverted desire. 

It was a miracle that Obi-Wan seemed to be completely oblivious to his Padawan’s sudden lustful thoughts; something Anakin was exceedingly grateful for. No doubt it helped that they were driven to the edge of exhaustion, rushing first from Ossus to Phindar, then to Charros IV and finally to Boz Pity, all in quick succession. When they got to rest, they were both so bone-tired that they fell asleep immediately, limbs entangled, chest to back. Although Obi-Wan’s nearness made him yearn with helpless want, there was little chance of Anakin embarrassing them both with an inconvenient proof of his arousal. 

He knew he was playing with fire – Obi-Wan was too perceptive to be fooled for long. Anakin should have kept some space between them, maintained a tighter grip on his shields and feelings, but he could not. Somehow their physical nearness had become hopelessly interlaced with their newfound emotional closeness – and Anakin could not give up either one. How could he, when it resulted in his Master finally opening that closely guarded door, letting Anakin get glimpses of his truest self? 

When Obi-Wan had revealed that he too had once thought about leaving the Order – had actually done so on Melida/Daan – Anakin was struck speechless, amazed. It was during one of the rare quiet moments they had since leaving Ossus, when they were still flying towards Phindar as fast as possible. Kit Fisto’s troops were under heavy fire, badly needing help trying to defend the Phindar Station. So desperate was the situation, that even two Jedi in an old freighter, accompanied by three shuttles and as many platoons of clones, were considered significant reinforcements. _Vigilance_ and half of the fleet’s ships were also on the way, albeit much slower, while the rest of the Open Circle Fleet still stood guard over Ossus, waiting to be replaced with another force. 

Anakin had insisted that he and Obi-Wan took the still unnamed freighter, arguing it was in tiptop condition after all the repairs and cleaning he and R2 had done. Besides, one never knew when a need arose for an unremarkable, civilian ship. He was simultaneously glad and sorry, when Obi-Wan agreed with him. Glad, because he didn’t have to cram into a shuttle with thirty clones; sorry, because he would be journeying _alone_ with Obi-Wan. Well, not precisely alone, but R2 didn’t really count. Nor did the squad of clones, who had taken over the cargo hold and rarely ventured anywhere else, too mindful that the freighter was their General’s personal ship or some other nonsense. 

So, Anakin had been effectively alone with Obi-Wan, and to avoid a certain disaster, he had decided that he would just have to manage and suppress like crazy – he would have to think about _anything else_ than his Master’s lips, or his strong callused hands, or the hollow of his throat, or that crooked smile…

Yeah, Anakin could concede that the situation had been somewhat hopeless, and he had been ready to meet Obi-Wan’s knowing eyes and disgusted expression with much grovelling and firm assurances that it was just a phase, he would get over it, nothing needed to change, and whatever else he could think to say that would make it all alright again. 

As it turned out, they were luckily far too busy for Anakin’s folly to gain any notice. Anakin was trying to get them in one piece through the asteroid field, while Obi-Wan was finishing off his report on Ossus and the cave paintings, his mind no doubt already on future military engagements. It was only when they were safely out of Cron Drift and speeding towards Phindar, that they had both left the cockpit for a brief, simultaneous moment of rest. They had lain on the bunk in the captain’s suite, both of them sidestepping the fact that the freighter’s two passenger cabins _and_ the first mate’s cabin had been scrubbed clean and were perfectly livable – and unoccupied. 

It was then Anakin had been shocked to his core. 

Worried that their destination would stir painful memories in Obi-Wan, Anakin, with his customary tack, had just finally blurted it out. _It_ being one of the stupidest discussion openers he had ever thought of, but well, whatever. It had worked out in the end. 

“So, Phindar…that’s pretty close to Mandalore.” 

“Yes, Anakin. I know where Phindar is.” Obi-Wan’s voice was dry as dust, and his warm breath tickled Anakin’s bare neck, made the sensitive skin turn into gooseflesh. It was one of Anakin’s favourite spots to be kissed.

“Right. Of course you do. I just…” He felt himself flush with heat. Fortunately, they had settled into their usual sleeping position; Obi-Wan was behind him and couldn’t see Anakin’s reddened cheeks. 

The ensuing silence was heavy, expectant. When it became clear that Obi-Wan would not break it, Anakin ploughed on, hating that his words came out haltingly, skirting around what he really wanted to say. “I thought if…because of what happened…that is, if you want to…want to talk or – or something. I’m here.”

There was a series of quick flashes, the images furious, blurring together – Maul’s red-black face, dark blade piercing flesh and bone, Satine’s unseeing eyes – before Obi-Wan slammed his shields tightly shut, the bond between them still and silent, even the basic feel of his Master’s presence withheld from Anakin. Anakin stiffened, his limbs clenched painfully.

“I just thought…I’m here. That’s all I wanted to say,” Anakin whispered weakly, feeling suddenly small and foolish. The silence stretched uncomfortably, and he wondered if he should get up, go elsewhere and give Obi-Wan the distance the other man so clearly wanted. 

However, just as quickly as his Master’s shields had become impenetrable, they slackened again. Obi-Wan let his remorse filter through their bond – _I’m sorry Padawan_ –, sending a reassuring wave of warm regard to Anakin. _I did not mean to shut you out_. Aloud he said, “I appreciate the offer. But I don’t – It’s in the past.” 

The tightness inside Anakin untwisted; the cold in his bones and muscles evaporated. He answered Obi-Wan through their bond with a tangled mess of feelings, hoping to convey comfort, understanding and sympathy. _It’s alright. I understand._ Anakin shifted a little bit backwards, so that he could feel Obi-Wan’s solid weight more firmly against his back. 

Silence again, this time calm and unhurried. His Master pressed his forehead against the back of Anakin’s neck, inhaling deeply. 

_I could not save her_. Soundless, the words echoed raw, grudging emotion. Like they were drawn from Obi-Wan against his will, every syllable razor sharp, cutting open half-healed wounds. _I loved her still. When we were younger, I would have left the Order, if she had only asked._

Touched and honoured, Anakin knew instinctively that Obi-Wan could not have made his confession in any other way; only silently, in the safety of their bond, could he bare his soul. Just as surely Anakin knew that however much he wanted it, he could not turn around and gather his friend in his arms. It would be too much for his Master. The only way Anakin could offer comfort, was to reach behind with his right arm, until he found Obi-Wan’s hand and could interlace their fingers together. 

Anakin had known that Obi-Wan had still harboured feelings for Satine, but he hadn’t realized how deep they ran. _Love_. It was the first time his Master had admitted to loving someone – loving someone so much that he had been willing to leave the Jedi, to give up his purpose in life, for her. Anakin could not help but be selfishly glad that the Duchess of Mandalore had never asked, for where would Anakin then be, if Obi-Wan had left the Order? 

How wrong he had been about his Master! To think that once Anakin had thought him to be dispassionate, reserved, almost unfeeling. Anakin marvelled that they should be so similar in their love, for how many countless times had Anakin contemplated leaving the Jedi for Padmé? Only in their reaction to loss they differed fundamentally: Obi-Wan had refused to seek revenge for Satine’s death, while Anakin did not even dare to think what he would do if something happened to Padmé. But that did not surprise him in the least, for his Master had always been the better man. 

As if sensing the direction of Anakin’s thoughts and wanting to divert them, Obi-Wan asked, “Did I ever tell you that I have been in Phindar before? I had my first mission as a Padawan there.”

Anakin shook his head and was pleasantly surprised, when Obi-Wan launched into a tale of hijacking, criminals and memory erasure. But his Master did not stop there; after that came the account of a bitter civil war on Melida/Daan and the mind-blowing confession of a teenaged Obi-Wan leaving the Order. It was as if once Obi-Wan had started reminiscing, he did not want to stop. 

In that all too brief moment of rest, Anakin had hung eagerly to his Master’s every word, carefully attaching the new pieces to the incomplete jigsaw puzzle that was the history of Obi-Wan Kenobi. Eventually though, Anakin had fallen drowsily into half-sleep, the deep rumble of his Master’s voice burrowing into his heart, his mechanical fingers still clutching Obi-Wan’s hand. 

Obi-Wan had woken him a couple of hours later, their ETA to Phindar less than an hour away. Instantly alert, Anakin had taken his customary place in the cockpit, making sure they were ready for a rough and tumble entry straight into the middle of a space battle. Before his thoughts had been completely taken over by the coming fight, his mind had lingered on an old notion – it _was_ bad luck to fly in an unnamed ship.

There was a name that had played on his mind for weeks. However, Anakin had been hesitant to use it, since it revealed too much of his own wishes and desires. But it was the right name for his ship, and there was no sense in pretending he was going to name the ship anything else. Finally decided, he logged it into the ship’s computer, just as Obi-Wan entered the cockpit, easily settling into his place by Anakin’s side. 

That moment en route to Phindar had been the last peaceful one for a while. They had just barely caught their breaths after helping Master Fisto repel the enemy, when they had gotten the message about Charros IV. The Mid Rim planet manufactured the Vulture Droid for the Confederacy, and also held the Haor Chall Engineering’s headquarters, which the Republic Intelligence had been trying to infiltrate with a success rate that ranged from failure to fiasco. However, their luck – or competence – had markedly increased, and the Republic had finally cobbled together a somewhat viable if a daring plan to destroy both the main factory and the headquarters’ databanks. The mission was considered so critical that Obi-Wan and Anakin were dispatched post-haste to aid Aayla Secura in its execution. 

On Charros, Anakin had concentrated on blowing up the factory, while Obi-Wan had taken on the arguably more stealth acquiring infiltration of the headquarters. The whole time they had been on the planet, Anakin had hardly seen Obi-Wan for more than a couple of minutes per day. Therefore, he was hardly in any danger of suffering embarrassing revelations, created by his persistent, burning attraction. Anakin even became accustomed to it, lulled into a false security, believing both his tiredness and strength of mind would keep any unwanted bodily functions from occurring. 

Charros IV of course turned out to be a kriffing dumpster fire of a mess, but as they both left the place relatively unharmed, the factory and the headquarters a smoking ruin, Anakin counted it a solid win. Next up was Boz Pity, where his luck – and resolve – finally ran out. While their fleet restocked everything that they could get their hands on in the former Separatist turned Republic base, Anakin and Obi-Wan finally had some time to get proper sleep. And true rest meant some hazy, but very pleasant dreams. 

On their second night on Boz Pity, Anakin found himself suddenly awake and fully aroused. The dream was already gone, but the reality proved just as enticing. Obi-Wan was warm and firm, plastered all along Anakin’s back, from head to toe. Anakin was hyper-aware of every point of contact between them: the arm that curled over Anakin’s waist; the sharp chin poking his shoulder; the broad chest pressed against his back; the bony knee tucked into Anakin’s; the leg that was thrown over his hip, trapping Anakin effectively in place. It truly was amazing how his Master had been exposed as a secret cuddler, how in sleep and in the soft moments before it, Obi-Wan was unapologetically tactile, curling around Anakin and keeping him close. 

Anakin had nothing against spooning, quite the opposite in fact. But it did present some _hard_ships, pun very much intended. He ached, all nerves tingling, heart beating so loud he was certain Obi-Wan would wake to its sound. Trying to keep still as stone, Anakin fervently hoped his problem would just go away. If only he could think about something else than Obi-Wan, something repulsive and horrid, anything else and not Obi-Wan…Obi-Wan, who was there, right behind him…

It was no use. Anakin was excited and mortified and aroused, and it was almost as if his hand had a mind of its own, for there was no other explanation why it sneaked furtively downwards and pressed firmly against his aching hardness. 

Anakin bit his lip. _Kriff_. It felt good. Even through the fabric of his trousers, it felt too good. 

Slowly, breath hitching, he rubbed at his prick, guilty – _it’s so wrong to do this while Obi-Wan is asleep right there_ – and yet not caring – _he’s asleep, he’ll never know_ – for it felt so good – _and it’s been so long, so karking long_ – and he could not suppress it anymore, the desire, the need – _Obi-Wan is here, he’s holding me, he’s so close, we are so close_ – and his hand was slithering inside his trousers, finally touching bare skin and _oh_ – 

Just barely, Anakin managed to muffle his groan into the pillow. He shuddered and panted as he slowly stroked himself. It was agony – and ecstasy. He squeezed his eyes close, dozen daydreams playing out in his mind. Obi-Wan kissing him, first lazily and then frenzied. Obi-Wan, curling his arm around Anakin, casually possessive. Obi-Wan smiling at him, only at him. Obi-Wan threading his fingers gently through Anakin’s hair, and then yanking the strands roughly. Obi-Wan rubbing himself against Anakin, both of them equally hard and desperate. Obi-Wan taking hold of Anakin’s cock, his callused hand firm and warm and bold. Obi-Wan pushing into him. Obi-Wan, Obi-Wan, Obi-Wan – 

Obi-Wan whispering into his ear, voice deep and hoarse, _I need you I want you I love you_ – 

The sudden climax was like an electric current rushing through Anakin: his whole body stiffened even as everything in him surged and vibrated and shouted from pleasure. Silent almost to the last, a small moan managed to escape his lips as Anakin trembled and shivered, trying to wrestle himself under control. 

Slowly, the reality reasserted itself, space and time aligning to the present moment in a narrow bed, in an unremarkable room, in a planet of graveyards. The heavy beat of his heart calming, Anakin felt like he was softly coming down from a high. Pleasantly buzzed, his eyelids were slipping close, mind already creeping nearer to sleep than wakefulness. 

Before dozing off, Anakin had enough presence of mind left to try to discreetly wipe his sticky hand on the interior of his trousers, where hopefully the evidence would not be visible, only highly uncomfortable. He would have to slip into a sonic first thing in the morning, change into fresh clothes. Relaxed and languid, Anakin let himself drift into a dream, the memory of pleasure supplanting the strain of the past weeks. 

Perhaps that dream of crooked smiles and warm hands would have turned into less pleasant images, if Anakin had only realized something important – that somehow, in the post-haze of getting his rocks off, it had completely slipped his mind to check, if Obi-Wan truly was still soundly asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise you'll get to read what Obi-Wan is thinking about all of this in the next chapter :)


	9. Kwenn Space Station, part I

The freighter shuddered and groaned as it docked into its designated berth, making them lurch forward in their seats. Anakin was already busy powering the ship down, and Obi-Wan’s gaze was drawn to his leather-clad hands, to their quick, efficient movements. As in silent admonishment, the cockpit plunged suddenly into darkness, breaking his inopportune stare. After a few seconds, the lights flickered haltingly back on. 

Obi-Wan couldn’t help but turn to his friend, eyebrows raised. Apparently, the freighter was not in as tiptop condition as Anakin had claimed it to be. 

“It’s just a small hiccup, Master.” Anakin’s grin was rakish, eyes teasing. “There’s nothing to worry about.” 

“If you so say,” Obi-Wan muttered, his answering smile freezing into a rictus of a grimace as Obi-Wan’s brain caught up to what his lips were automatically trying to do. Anakin’s brow furrowed, and Obi-Wan hurried to cover his awkwardness with an explanation. “We have no backup, no real assurances that this is not a trap. If – _when_ – we need to leave in a hurry, as per usual, this ship needs to be _working_, not spitting us out back into space –”

“It _is_ working, _I_ fixed it,” Anakin interrupted indignantly, yanking his restraint harness off and standing up. “I would never risk the mission –” _I would never risk you_ “– with a faulty ship.” 

“I know,” Obi-Wan sighed, leaving the silent sentiment echoing through their bond unacknowledged. He truly hadn’t meant to criticise his former apprentice. Anakin knew ships more thoroughly than he knew people: if he said the freighter was not going to leave them in the lurch, then Obi-Wan was going to trust him. 

“Good.” At least partly mollified, the teasing lilt was back in Anakin’s voice. “You worry too much. When we scramble out of here, we’ll do it with our customary style and panache.” Anakin’s hand came to rest on Obi-Wan’s upper back, fingers pressing against the hard knob of his spine. 

Obi-Wan forced himself not to stiffen under the light touch, willing himself to relax. It was not Anakin’s fault that the casual contact burned Obi-Wan to the bone. 

“Let’s at least _try_ to avoid any explosions,” Obi-Wan remarked wryly, being able to breathe normally again as Anakin’s touch had vanished, his former Padawan already on the move. 

“I make no promises – now come on!” Anakin hollered from outside the cockpit, ready to exit the ship, typically impatient to dash towards the unknown. 

Obi-Wan took a deep breath and stayed in his seat, not to act contrary – alright, perhaps a little bit – but to centre himself in the Force. He closed his eyes, tracing the Force currents around the space station. No immediate danger was apparent, only the murky and uneasy feel of a place inhabited by transient people scraping to get by, most of them some degree of shady and untrustworthy. Smugglers, swindlers, bounty hunters, cargo haulers and more found themselves in the Kwenn Space Station, the last major supply depot and refuelling station for ships heading for the Outer Rim. 

The usual criminal syndicates were a fixture on the station, their presence, if not completely overt, hardly a secret either. Obi-Wan could not sense any Separatists nearby, but that did not mean much. The CIS most certainly had their agents and informants in place, just waiting to recognize the two arguably most recognizable Jedi generals of the Republic. And if they weren’t – well, all the other residents would be more than happy to sell that information to them. 

Once again, Obi-Wan thought that the odds of everything going as planned was laughably low, if not non-existent. Still, they did not have any choice, but to seek out further answers about the holocron. Mace had made that abundantly clear in his unsettling message. Obi-Wan did not need to replay it; every word was etched into his memory. 

_Kenobi, Skywalker. Senator Organa contacted us; he has managed to persuade his source to reveal the name of the secret operative. However, his source will only tell it face to face. The meeting will take place on the Kwenn Space Station as soon as possible. You are near, it shouldn’t take you more than half a day to get there from Boz Pity. You are to wait for Organa’s source, if they are not already there. We got no further instructions – apparently, they will find you. Be on your guard, this is highly suspect. I don’t have to tell you that this could very well be a Separatist trap. However, we have to take this chance: it is imperative we know where the holocron came from. I sense it twists around all our futures – but nothing is clear._

The urgency in Mace’s voice had been even more troubling than his words, for Mace Windu did not disclose anything of his feelings easily – the fact that he had let his unease show told Obi-Wan plenty. Mace was clearly worried, not just for Obi-Wan and Anakin, but for all the Jedi.

The blinding white light of the holocron was like a black maw, threatening to somehow swallow them whole. The memory of traveling through time was a visceral thing; Obi-Wan could almost feel the violent tug on his stomach, his insides torturously twisting, stretching him thin and hollow. It had been painful beyond any imagining – and not merely physically. He and Anakin had gone through the wringer emotionally, but in the end, it had made their relationship stronger, had brought them closer together. Obi-Wan had thought that a good thing, a blessing in disguise, _the will of the Force_.

Now he was not so sure. 

_Master?_ Anakin was hesitant, his earlier eagerness mostly abated. No doubt he sensed Obi-Wan’s darkly pensive mood, if not the particulars of his thoughts. 

Obi-Wan stood up, hand briefly straying to the lightsaber hidden beneath his jacket. As always, the galaxy did not wait for Obi-Wan Kenobi to get his mind in order. He would just have to do his best – for the mission and for Anakin.

His former Padawan was waiting for him, the boarding ramp still firmly closed. “Ready?” Anakin asked, the look in his eyes uncommonly soft. 

“Yes.” Obi-Wan hoped the lie was not as obvious to Anakin as it was to himself. He pushed the red button at the control panel, the ramp slowly lowering open.

\--

The space station was big, but as most of it was taken up by the different docks, warehouses and other private spaces, they actually covered the public places – the sections with such stellar commercial establishments as greasy diners, darkly lit bars, rundown pleasure houses and noisy gambling dens – fairly quickly. 

They meandered through the scuffed corridors pretending to be just two regular spacers with some downtime; lightsabers out of sight, their belts now held blasters, and their Jedi robes had been replaced with common, shabby clothes. Anakin had tied his unruly hair in a tight knot at the back of his neck, the strands just long enough to stay in the makeshift bun. He had also upturned the collar of his coat to mask the lower features of his face. Obi-Wan in turn had opted to cover his identifiable auburn hair with the hood of his short cape. No doubt, they looked dodgy, but then again, _everyone_ on the station did. 

Anakin tried to act as unassuming as he could, while at the same time he was taking careful note of everything around him. They had no description of the person they were supposed to meet; everyone they passed by could have been Organa’s mysterious source. How the person was going to find them, when Anakin and Obi-Wan could not exactly advertise their presence – well, that was another headache entirely. 

Predictably, soon enough they ended up in a crummy bar, as in the eyes of curious watchers, their seemingly aimless loitering was about to turn from indecisiveness to something infinitely more suspicious. As its name suggested, _The Hairy Spacer_ was a quality drinking hole, its dim and dirty interior half-full with shifty patrons in various states of drunkenness.

The bartender, an old Rodian who seemed to converse only in disinterested grunts, slammed their glasses on the counter, the dark-green alcohol looking more like a swampy sludge than anything drinkable. Obi-Wan downed his with one big swig; Anakin, not willing to be beaten at that game, followed suit. The liquor was bitter going down, but left a surprisingly good aftertaste. Obi-Wan ordered them new drinks, and those they sipped slowly, knowing it would have to last them for a while – or maybe not. 

Anakin tensed as a plain looking, middle-aged man took a seat on his right side. There was _intent_ in the man, his obvious interest in Anakin a sharp spike in the Force. Had Organa’s source found them? At Anakin’s left, Obi-Wan fairly vibrated with anticipation, although not a muscle in him so much as twitched. 

“_Hey._” The man leaned into Anakin, his hoarse voice pitched low. His Force signature was curiously blotchy with dark and light, just as his mind alternated between a clear, greedy focus and a mellow haziness of a drunk. “Can I buy you a drink, or is there something else you want?” 

“Ah, no thank you.” Anakin had finally realized that the person was _not_ Organa’s source, but a man trying to make a pass at him. Anakin blushed. It was not like it had never happened before, and yet it now felt somehow different, being hit on by a random bloke, while Obi-Wan was right there beside him. 

“No? You certain?” The man leaned even further into Anakin’s space, his odious breath making the skin on Anakin’s neck prickle. “We could have _such a good_ time.”

“I’m here with my friend,” Anakin said firmly, tilting his head towards Obi-Wan. His Master did not glance up, eyes fixed on his glass. He was holding his drink leisurely, although Anakin knew his indifference was an act; in the Force, Obi-Wan was coiled tight, ready to explode into action. 

“Oh, him?” The man made a show of looking Obi-Wan lazily up and down. “Well, I don’t mind if your friend joins us. The more, the merrier – that’s always been my motto.” 

Frustration and embarrassment rapidly gaining ground, Anakin infused his words with a light Force suggestion, “I’m certain. _You should go now_.”

The man frowned, opened his mouth as if to object, but then said grudgingly, “Alright, I’ll go.” He rose from the seat and staggered away. 

“Better luck next time,” Anakin muttered after the man, taking a long drink of his liquor. At the same time, he cast a few furtive looks around, hoping the incident hadn’t drawn too much attention. He needn’t have worried: no one in the bar was showing any interest in them. Apparently sleezy pick up attempts were a dime a dozen. 

“Such a shame,” Obi-Wan drawled, mouth twitching from hidden mirth. “The poor fellow was quite smitten.” 

“Yeah, well I wasn’t.” _Not with him at any rate_, Anakin thought to himself, half-despairingly. In the light of the single lamp above the bar counter, the sharp grey-blue of his Master’s eyes seemed even more striking than usual, making Anakin’s heart thump painfully against his ribcage. Like an addict helpless to resist temptation, Anakin leaned against Obi-Wan’s shoulder, seeking physical connection.

For a second – for a such miniscule moment, it would have been easy to miss – everything in Obi-Wan seemed to freeze: his body, breath and expression, even the look in his eyes, as if he had encountered a sudden threat or a difficult challenge. Then it was over as quick as it had begun, his Master acting again as usual, leaving Anakin to wonder if he had simply imagined it. 

Obi-Wan leaned slightly back against Anakin, letting their shoulders stay in contact. Anakin breathed deep, relief coursing through him. Of course, he had imagined it – 

Slowly, with a movement that was meant to be casual but was anything but, Obi-Wan drew away. Anakin was left leaning against empty air; he had to adjust his balance, straighten himself up on the stool to avoid toppling down. Obi-Wan’s eyes were back on his drink, carefully not looking at Anakin. 

He hadn’t imagined it then. The whole day, it had nagged at Anakin, the feeling that something was wrong with Obi-Wan. That although his Master had been with him in close quarters most of that time, he had still _evaded_ Anakin, withdrawn from him. Those who didn’t know Obi-Wan half as well as Anakin did, would have thought that Anakin was making up absurd claims, illusions without any basis on reality. 

But Anakin knew Obi-Wan. He knew him better than anyone else did, knew every expression, every shift in tone, every non-verbal cue. It had started that morning, it was only in relation to Anakin and that had to mean – 

_Oh Force_. Obi-Wan clearly had found out about Anakin’s attraction to him, knew of his unseemly desires and fantasies and were now disgusted. Had his Master been awake last night, when Anakin had…taken matters into his own hands? Had Obi-Wan _seen_ everything he had imagined?

_Oh kriffing, karking, crinking Force!_

Anakin downed his drink and ordered another. 

\-- 

After several drinks in heavy silence and having seen or heard neither sight nor sound of Bail’s source, it was time to give up the waiting game for the day. They trudged tiredly back to the ship, having decided the freighter was infinitely better lodgings for the night than the dubious motels on the station, being cleaner, safer and most importantly, free of charge.

Also, there was more space on the ship than in a motel’s cramped single room, something that was paramount to Obi-Wan’s sanity. After a few general comments about their plans for the next day – which were more of the same – he grabbed his rucksack from the lounge and retreated into the first mate’s cabin. Obi-Wan knew he was breaking their wordless pact of sleeping side by side, close to each other, but he deemed it necessary. They both needed their own space badly, urgently.

Nevertheless, Anakin’s dejected face tugged at Obi-Wan’s heart, made him feel irrationally guilty. His friend did not object though, just as Obi-Wan had known he wouldn’t, for what could he have said – _I don’t want to sleep alone?_ That might have been true of both of them, but it was hardly a rational, acceptable reason for two grown adults, let alone Jedi. 

Obi-Wan took out his belt, cape, jacket and boots; placed them neatly on the old chair in the corner of the small room. He put both the blaster and his lightsaber next to the lumpy pillow, and lay down on the narrow bed. On his back, limbs ramrod straight – not curling around anything – Obi-Wan closed his eyes. 

The silence was deafening. A thin wall separated Obi-Wan from Anakin, but no sound could be heard from the cabin next door. And still, Anakin’s misery permeated all barriers, penetrating and sharp. Obi-Wan’s Padawan – _former_ Padawan – was unhappy, melancholy and listless; a far cry from his feelings the night before. 

Obi-Wan clenched his hands into fists, then forced himself to open them as he breathed deep. All day, with more stubbornness than strength of mind, he had refused to think about it, desperately concentrating on Mace’s message and their mission. It should have been easy, since _mission first_ was something that had been ingrained into him since childhood. And yet, all day long, it had scratched at his barriers, seeking a way in – insistent, impetuous, inevitable. 

There was only a thin wall between his mind and the memory of the night before, and an inadvertent recollection of a sound – a muffled moan – made it crumble easily into a pitiful heap. Obi-Wan had thought he had known every sound Anakin could make; he had been wrong. That little moan, involuntary and real, was a secret Obi-Wan should have never learnt. 

The moment Obi-Wan had woken up and realized what was happening, he had retreated behind ironclad barriers, had completely shielded himself from Anakin – _hot desire overwhelming need aching love_ – so nothing could seep through after that first flush of searing feelings had scalded him to the core. To safe them both from embarrassment and a very awkward conversation, Obi-Wan had pretended to be asleep, trying to hopelessly divert his mind into anything else than what was happening in front of him. For even though Anakin’s mind was closed to him, Obi-Wan could still _hear_ and _sense_. 

It was a unique form of torture, to feel his friend tremble in Obi-Wan’s arms, to feel Anakin’s whole body trying to keep still, but helpless to stop the small jerks and shivers, then finally stiffening completely – 

It was hardly Anakin’s fault. True, the boy certainly should have picked a better, more private moment, but Obi-Wan knew all too well that even Jedi were only human. Sometimes the loneliness, the longing, the strain was just too much; Anakin had been under heavy stress for months, missing Padmé fiercely. That he fantasized about her wasn’t any kind of surprise, nor was it unnatural nor forbidden. 

It was Obi-Wan, whose reaction was unusual, out of bounds. He should have already dismissed the incident from his mind, let it become just another embarrassing but inconsequential memory. That he could not – that he still wallowed in it – that it awakened – 

He knew the reason of course; it was because he was too close to Anakin, and everything concerning his former Padawan had become muddled and undefined. Much of Obi-Wan’s time was spent keeping an eye on Anakin, carefully tracking and observing his moods and feelings, all too conscious of the lurking darkness inside his friend. Anakin’s precarious situation was always on the back of Obi-Wan’s mind, all the myriad ways Anakin could fail and be failed by Jedi and by Obi-Wan himself. 

True, Obi-Wan had always been uncommonly aware of Anakin. From the very moment the boy had become his Padawan, Obi-Wan had been like a moon in Anakin’s orbit. But he had resisted the pull for so long – had kept himself distant when there had been a danger of straying too near – had kept his heart silent – all in the face of Anakin’s earnest wish, his persistent seeking, to be just _closer_. 

And now it was Obi-Wan, whose arms felt empty without Anakin’s solid weight, who was cold without his friend’s warmth next to him. Obi-Wan, who had borne his soul to another, digging up painful memories long ago put to rest. Obi-Wan, who had drawn Anakin near, indulging and encouraging him to take liberties that even a year ago neither of them would have never sought out. 

It was Obi-Wan, who felt the strain and the longing, who was so lonely that an unintended moan was not something to be discarded and forgotten, but a secret to be jealously kept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the pining tag was no joke :D Also, how long do you think Obi-Wan will inhabit the denial-land?


	10. Kwenn Space Station, part II

It was no good. He was just as lousy with mediation as he had always been. 

Anakin sighed tiredly and opened his eyes. Limbs stiff, he rose from the durasteel floor of their – _his_ now – cabin, and plopped down dejectedly on the bunk, which was only slightly less punishing for his backside than the hard floor. The blankets were still in a messy pile at the foot of the bed, where Anakin had kicked them in his restless half-sleep. His night had gone as poorly as his mediation attempt; it seemed he could not find proper sleep or achieve any kind of meditative state without his Master’s steady presence at his side. 

The vague and unsettling dreams were back. Anakin hadn’t even realized he hadn’t had them for months – not while he had been sleeping next to Obi-Wan – but last night the empty corridors of the abandoned Jedi Temple had again been the main feature of his fitful sleep. He had tossed and turned for hours, too keyed up with thoughts about his Master, but in his dreams Obi-Wan had been nowhere in sight. Anakin had searched for him, frantic and terrified, knowing he _had to_ reach Obi-Wan, knowing his Master was in the Holocron Vault, but Anakin hadn’t been able to find his way there, no matter how hard he tried. The familiar passages had twisted into unexpected directions, and all the doors had opened into new, uncharted corridors. The cold and hollow temple had mocked him, had kept him away from that which he desperately sought. 

The dream probably was a very fitting representation of his current state of mind, but Anakin did not want to think or analyse or meditate – he was tired and frustrated and resigned, his hurt and guilt almost a physical nausea at the pit of his stomach, heavy and acrid, and he was tired of thinking about any of it – 

“Anakin?” Obi-Wan’s voice, unusually hesitant, sounded through the closed door. “Are you ready? We should head out.” 

Anakin gathered his mental shields closer to himself, tightened them further, not wanting Obi-Wan to see or feel any of the disorderly mess inside of him. Not that it mattered much anyway; his Master’s own shields were once again impenetrable, easily keeping Anakin out. Most likely Obi-Wan could not – nor did he want to – feel anything from Anakin. 

“Yeah, I’m ready,” Anakin grunted, pulling his jacket hastily on. He steeled his mind: the mission came first. The kriffing mission _always_ came first. 

He found Obi-Wan waiting for him, dressed in the same civilian clothes as the day before. His Master’s eyes briefly flicked over Anakin, before settling back on the controls of the ramp. “Let’s hope we have better luck today and don’t have to drink that sludge the whole evening.” 

Normally Anakin would have answered with something like _I thought that sludge was just to your taste_, but he had no interest in trying to pretend things were fine and normal by mimicking their usual banter, so he stayed stubbornly silent. 

It only took a few seconds for the silence to turn oppressively uncomfortable. Obi-Wan cleared his throat. “Well, let’s go then.” 

It was early enough in the morning that the space station was not yet bustling with people; although ships were coming in at all hours of the standard rotation, the workers that actually lived on the station kept to a fixed schedule that revolved around an artificial daytime. They walked slowly through the dock D3, where their freighter was berthed, taking note of any new ships. 

Anakin tried to focus on his surroundings, discreetly probing the people they encountered with the Force, but he was having a hard time concentrating. Obi-Wan strode quietly a little ahead of Anakin, both his physical and mental presence muted and withdrawn. Anakin knew it was partly because his Master did not want to attract any attention, but it was also an obvious continuation of Obi-Wan shunning _any_ contact with Anakin, be it a mere knowing look or a light touch through their bond. 

It was driving Anakin up the wall: how could he ever concentrate and push aside the vicious thoughts of how badly he had screwed things up between them, if Obi-Wan was constantly reminding him of it with his infuriating, coldly evasive manner? Anakin was ready to continue the search alone, but knew arguing about it would be pointless. Obi-Wan was of the opinion that it was too dangerous for them to separate, and rationally Anakin knew he was right – but kark, in that moment he didn’t want to be _anywhere near_ Obi-Wan.

After wandering through the docks and the first four commercial levels, Obi-Wan stopped in front of a small eatery. He glanced at Anakin, then stepped inside the diner, which was cramped with an assortment of miscellaneous tables and chairs, but lacked customers. It seemed his Master had decided it was time for an early lunch. Anakin was not hungry; in fact, just the thought of food made his stomach clench uncomfortably. Nevertheless, he followed Obi-Wan wordlessly to the _Meilooruns & Eggs_, doubting that anyone in the place had ever even seen a meiloorun fruit. He was right of course, and the least off-putting food on the menu turned out to be plain scrambled eggs, which he ordered only to avoid any suspicion. 

They took their seats around one of the tables that were placed outside the diner on a scuffed platform that was probably trying to be a terrace of sorts. The small chairs were hardly comfortable, but they had a good view of their surroundings and could keep an eye on the people passing by. Obi-Wan had gotten eggs too, and for the next few minutes they ate slowly, the uncommonly loud sound of their forks scraping against the plates making Anakin’s head ache. He forced himself to mechanically chew and swallow; the food was bland, somehow tasting worse than any ration bar he had ever had.

Anakin was so hyper-aware of Obi-Wan, that even when he got no warning through their bond, he still almost jumped from his seat, when Obi-Wan suddenly stiffened. His Master’s attention was drawn to a human man sauntering towards them, the dark visor of the man’s helmet obscuring most of his face. Anakin tensed, his hand edging nearer to his hidden lightsaber. 

The man stepped up to their table nonchalantly as if they were all old friends. “Are the eggs any good?” Anakin recognized the voice instantly, but didn’t draw his hand away from his blade. 

“What are you doing here?” Obi-Wan said, his words barely audible. Although clearly taken aback, his face had stayed neutral, betraying none of his surprise. Anakin tried to school his own features to match his Master’s, but his scowl was slow to dissipate. _What the frizz Organa is playing at by coming here?_

“You are not happy to see me?” Bail Organa asked flippantly as he sat down on the empty chair between them. Even if the upturn curve of his mouth hadn’t been visible, the warmth in his voice would have given away his pleasure at seeing Obi-Wan.

“It _is_ good to see you.” Obi-Wan’s genuine smile made Anakin frown; something sharp and bitter was clawing at his heart. “Although I can’t say this development doesn’t bother me – we didn’t know you would be here.” 

“I didn’t mean to be, but I got new instructions at the last minute; my contact insisted he would not meet you without me – he doesn’t trust…your kind.” Organa spoke so quietly that Anakin doubted anyone outside their table could hear him, but it was still better not to say the word _Jedi_ aloud. 

Obi-Wan’s eyes narrowed in obvious discontent. “You shouldn’t have come – this is a dangerous place for a man of your occupation.”

“For yours too. But we both have been in more dangerous places, some of them together.” The name _Zigoola_ hung between them, huge and heavy. Now that Anakin had himself experienced the hellish planet steeped in the dark side of the Force, he understood how a strong friendship could have formed between the Alderaanian senator and Obi-Wan, who disliked politicians surprisingly passionately. That understanding didn’t make him resent it any less. Anakin knew his feelings on the matter were petty and selfish, but he couldn’t help himself – he never could, when it came down to competing for his Master’s attention. 

“Besides,” Organa continued softly, “when you asked for my help, I got the impression that the information you seek is vitally important. I couldn’t not do all in my power to aid you.” 

Imperceptibly, Obi-Wan’s tense shoulders slackened, and Anakin knew his Master had accepted Organa’s help even before Obi-Wan said, “Well, do you at least have a specific location and a time for the meeting?” 

Organa grimaced. “Time? Pretty much now. Place? Something called _The Hairy Spacer_.” 

Obi-Wan gave them both a wry grin, stating with his impossibly dry trademark tone, “_Just lovely_,” – and making Anakin’s heart somersault wildly. 

_You are lovely_, Anakin thought, wishing immediately he could bash his head against the table and knock his moronic, miserable self unconscious.

\--

_The Hairy Spacer_ was just as dim and dismal looking as the night before; even the number of patrons was more or less unchanged despite the artificial day being still young. The same Rodian bartender stood hunched behind the counter, not indicating in any way that he recognized Obi-Wan and Anakin as they ordered their drinks.

Bail’s gaze swept around the room, the small shake of his head telling Obi-Wan that the source had not yet arrived. They were in for more waiting then, and Obi-Wan was getting very tired of it. His patience was wearing thin quicker than usual as he expected the ostensible calmness to break at any moment. There was a persistent tenseness in him, every one of his nerves and muscles pulled taut, hovering on the brink of – something. Obi-Wan could not tell if it was because the Force was trying to warn him, or if it was because of Anakin – standing too close to him, silent and wound up so tight – and the almost unbearable tension crackling between them.

This time they chose to sit in a booth at the back of the bar, where there was less chance of being overheard. Bail was gracious enough to take a seat in the middle of the half-circular bench and be boxed in by the table and the Jedi sitting on both sides of him. In less fraught circumstances Obi-Wan would have gladly caught up with his friend, whom he hadn’t seen in months, but now he had to extend every remaining reserve of strength and clarity just to keep his focus on the mission. 

As always, Bail read the situation correctly and didn’t try to engage either of them with chit-chat. He took a careful sip of his drink, his wince pulling a smile from Obi-Wan. The bar’s selection of drinks truly was hairy. His smile dropped as he felt the weight of Anakin’s stare. 

Bail set his glass down, looking at it dismally. “Well, that was an experience.” 

Anakin snorted, and Bail shot him a small grin, saying, “I have something for you.” He took a holodisk from his coat pocket and put it carefully on the table, pushing it towards Anakin. “From a mutual friend.”

Obi-Wan had thought the atmosphere couldn’t became any tenser, but he was proven wrong. His heart seemed to miss a beat when Anakin stared at the disk, various emotions crossing his face too quickly for Obi-Wan to interpret them. His former Padawan glanced at Obi-Wan as he almost furtively pocketed Padmé’s message, muttering his thanks to Bail. 

For the holodisk could not be from anyone else. With growing concern, Obi-Wan wondered what could be so important that Padmé would enlist Bail as her messenger – it had to be something so confidential, it could not be trusted to be conveyed via any communication channel. Perhaps Padmé wanted to patch things up with Anakin. That would be – that could only be good. At least it would make Anakin happy. 

Obi-Wan’s musings were abruptly cut short, when Bail hissed, “He’s here.” 

A Pau’an male, dressed all in black, was approaching their table decidedly, not even pretending to be there for any reason other than meeting them. As was typical of his race, he was gaunt and tall; he would have easily towered over even Anakin, if they had all been standing. 

“Jem,” Bail greeted the Pau’an politely, “well met.” Obi-Wan was certain _Jem_ was not the source’s real name. 

Jem inclined his grey-skinned head, silver eyes examining carefully first Obi-Wan and then Anakin. Exposing a row of sharp and jagged teeth, his mouth stretched into something that could perhaps be called a smile if one was generous. 

“Won’t you sit down?” Obi-Wan asked, when the Pau’an didn’t make any move to take a seat. 

“I’m not staying,” Jem rasped dismissively. 

“I trust you got all the credits we agreed upon.” Behind Bail’s seemingly concerned words was another meaning: the Pau’an had already gotten the payment, and now he had better deliver his end of the bargain. 

Bail’s source frowned, his sunken eyes flashing with obvious ire. “Yes, just as we agreed. You’ll get what you came for – I’m just not staying in this place any longer than I have to.” It wasn’t clear if he meant the bar or the whole space station. From his haughty mien, Obi-Wan guessed the latter. 

“Hey, _you_ picked this place,” Anakin interjected incredulously, his expression darkening. Obi-Wan gave him a sharp look, willing his former Padawan to hold his tongue and temper. Anakin pursed his lips in obvious displeasure, but _thank the Force_ did not say anything else. 

“Not by choice, I assure you,” Jem muttered, raising Obi-Wan’s level of concern up another notch. He felt for the Force around the Pau’an, dipping carefully into the currents, following the strands swirling around the source. He could not sense any deceit, only a thick layer of discomfort and anxiety. 

“Cut to the chase then already,” Anakin growled, meeting Obi-Wan’s chastising look with an obstinate glower. The headache, that had lurked the whole day just on the periphery of Obi-Wan’s brain, moved in for the kill. 

The Pau’an glanced around, his nervousness for the first time fully visible. “Alright. You have to understand, I know nothing about any of it. The only information I got was the coordinates and that I should deliver them to him –” he nodded his head sharply towards Bail “– which I did and that was the end of it. I don’t know what was in the coordinates, I know better than to ask any questions, I only deliver messages.” 

“But you _do_ know _who_ gave you those coordinates.” Obi-Wan looked at Jem steadily, letting his resolve and tenacity to stand out, allowing the power of his position and character, which he usually blanketed by a veneer of affability and civility, to show in full force. “And we would like to know it too.” It was clear to everyone that it was not a request.

“She –” The Pau’an gulped, but continued under the pressure of Obi-Wan’s hard gaze, “– she didn’t tell me her name, but I recognized her.” Again, he glanced furtively around. Bending down and leaning forward, he finally hissed, “_Asajj Ventress_.” 

“Where? How? Where is she _now_?” Anakin’s voice, although mercifully still quiet in volume, thundered through them, the underlaying anger making the hairs at the back of Obi-Wan’s neck rise. Dooku’s assassin turned bounty hunter was still a sour spot for Anakin, despite her having helped both Obi-Wan and Ahsoka. Obi-Wan’s own feelings about Ventress were equally conflicted, although far less violent. He had forgiven her the torture he had suffered at her hands, but knew Anakin had not, and likely never would. 

“I don’t know!” Jem claimed, the pitch of his voice rising with his anxiety. 

“Alright,” Obi-Wan interjected calmly, trying to defuse the rapidly escalating situation. “We believe you. Where did you meet her, when she gave you the coordinates?” 

The Pau’an looked uneasy, answering sheepishly, “Here actually.” 

“What? You have to be karking kidding me! If you set us up –” Anakin was already half-way out of his seat, and Obi-Wan followed suit, intend on stopping whatever stupidity his Padawan was about to commit next. 

“No!” Jem protested, backing away from their table. “This is just a place where I conduct my business, that’s all, I swear.” 

“Yeah? We’ll see about that –,” Obi-Wan gripped Anakin’s shoulder hard, his forceful grasp managing to halt both Anakin’s furious words and his ill-advised lunge towards Jem. His former Padawan went deathly still, but Obi-Wan could feel that beneath his hand Anakin was quivering from pent-up frustration and anger. 

“_This_ is why I don’t deal with Jedi!” The Pau’an spat, fear at the bottom of his sunken eyes. “I don’t know anything else, and I have upheld my end of the bargain – I’m going now.” And he hastily spun around, making his way quickly out of the bar. 

“That went well,” Obi-Wan quipped darkly, letting go of Anakin. 

“Someone had to twist his arm to get to the truth, and as usual, it fell on me.” Anakin’s voice was sullen and he refused to look at Obi-Wan. He was fiddling with his jacket pocket, the one where he had secreted the holodisk, no doubt eager to watch Padmé’s message, most certainly hoping for it to contain a desired reconciliation. 

Obi-Wan reigned in the reflex to snipe back, instead saying, “Let’s go – _now_. We have raised too much attention.” He was acutely aware of the considering, curious looks they were getting from the other patrons. 

“I second that motion,” Bail remarked, breaking his silence. Obi-Wan could only guess what his friend thought of the stellar display he had just witnessed. 

They didn’t dawdle, but left their half-empty glasses on the table without any regret, striding out of the bar. Moving quickly, they headed for the docks, all the people they encountered on the way seemingly staring at them far too long. Trouble was brewing; Obi-Wan was quite certain they were being followed. 

“Bail, where’s your ship? Are you alone?” 

“It’s on H7, my pilot is in the ship,” Bail answered, head turning to take in Obi-Wan’s solemn expression. “Why?” 

“We’re being followed,” Anakin said in a tight voice. He had casually taken a position on Bail’s left side; the senator was now between them, and they had a better chance of keeping him safe, if something went south. 

Obi-Wan kept his gaze firmly ahead. “Our ship is closer. You’re coming with us; signal your pilot to leave, we can rendezvous with your vessel later.” 

Luckily Bail was far too level-headed and experienced to argue back. He tapped his wrist link and contacted the pilot, relaying Obi-Wan’s order. 

“Think that sleemo sold us out? Or Ventress set a trap for us?” Anakin’s right hand had come to rest on his side, near the place where Obi-Wan knew his apprentice’s lightsaber lay hidden beneath the jacket. 

“I don’t know, Anakin. We don’t exactly lack enemies.” From the corner of his eye Obi-Wan glimpsed two Weequays trailing them none too stealthily.

“Nor does this place lack people wanting to cash in that bounty the CIS has put on all our heads,” Bail muttered. 

They walked the rest of the way to the docks silently, all of them on edge, bracing themselves for a sudden attack. However, nothing happened – not until the freighter was already in their sights. The two Weequays had picked company, and there were now five bounty hunters behind them. Six more waited for them near their ship, obviously trying to box them in. 

Anakin drew his lightsaber, Obi-Wan following suit only an instant later. The time for trying to conceal their identities was over. The ensuing fight was short, but intense: as the criminals fired their blasters, Anakin and Obi-Wan parried the shots back, Bail joining in on the fray with his own gun. When the number of their opponents had been sufficiently thinned down, half of them laying on the ground in various stages of wounded-dying-dead, it was easy enough to break out of the trap and sprint for the safety of the freighter. 

These bounty hunters however didn’t know when to give up; when Obi-Wan dashed to the co-pilot’s seat, he saw that the criminals had gotten reinforcements. Some of them were setting up a heavy repeating blaster on a tripod, connecting it to a power generator. One well-placed hit and the ship – and they with it – would be done for. 

“Oh no you don’t,” Anakin grumbled, hastily flicking the ship’s shields on – but there was no tell-tale hum of shields activating, nor did the indicator panel light up. Anakin swore heavily in Huttese, punching the shield controls a few times in a quick succession. Nothing happened. 

“Anakin…”

“I know! This ship is a kriffing piece of _shab_!” Anakin snapped, and then yanked at the controls of the freighter’s front blaster canon, firing a rapid volley of shots. The power generator blew up in a brilliant flash, taking the remaining bounty hunters and their heavy repeating blaster with it. Then the nearest cargo containers burst apart, lethally flinging sharp metal and pieces of whatever they were storing around. The fuel pump was next: it exploded with a tremendous roar that Obi-Wan could feel even inside the ship. The entire dock was soon in a complete and utter chaos; dock workers and freighter crews were running for cover as the fire started to spread from berth to berth, volatile cargo exploding randomly like surprise fireworks. 

Anakin navigated them silently out of the space station, Obi-Wan only barely managing to keep a tight lid on his rising fury. When they had finally safely entered hyperspace, he rose from his seat, sniping acidly, “Congratulations Anakin, you got to blow things up.”

Obi-Wan met Bail’s stunned expression with a mirthless grin. “If you didn’t know it yet, this is perfectly on par with our customary manner of exit. How did you like our exceptional style and panache?” 

When Bail failed to answer, Obi-Wan strode out of the cockpit, wishing he too could still be struck dumb by the collateral damage they were capable of inflicting. But the war had long ago stripped him of the notion that they were any better than the enemy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Anakin's pain and fear has once again turned into anger, and Obi-Wan is hardly faring any better. I feel sorry for Bail, who has to be the third wheel in this awkward tango.


	11. Unity

The cockpit was taken over by deep silence, as Mace abruptly ended the call, his acerbic voice and shrewd gaze vanishing. Obi-Wan flicked off the holotransmitter, trying to settle his troublesome, worn out thoughts into some semblance of order and calm. The seething anger was still churning tenaciously at the bottom of his stomach, unusually slow to dissipate.

To say that Mace had not been pleased by the recent developments, would have been an understatement; Obi-Wan had felt like a Padawan again, looked down upon as he was scolded by a harsh Master. Although, Obi-Wan’s own curt, defensive tone as he had reported what had happened on the space station, had hardly set a positive mood for the meeting. Furthermore, he had not taken kindly to Mace’s biting remarks about Anakin’s continuing failure to control his temper – never mind that he himself had uncharitably thought the same just mere moments ago. 

Obi-Wan had been right to leave Anakin out of the meeting. Initially he hadn’t wanted to interrupt his former Padawan, who had shut himself in his cabin, eager to watch Padmé’s message; now he was just relieved that the boy had not been present in the cockpit to prove Mace right. Undoubtedly Anakin’s absence had also saved them both from further inappropriate outbursts by Obi-Wan’s own fraying temper. 

Leaning against the hard backrest of his seat, Obi-Wan closed his eyes, reaching for the Force. The headache still pulsed screeching-red across his temples, a steady and familiar pain ever since his first visit to Zigoola. He drew the Force around it, and imagined shutting the ache away into a padded box. Willing his shoulders and neck muscles to unwind from their tense ready-stance, with every deep breath Obi-Wan let his resentment, frustration and anxiety trickle away. 

A clank sounded, breaking the silence, and Obi-Wan’s eyes flew open. 

“I’m sorry,” Bail said softly from behind him, “I didn’t mean to disturb you.” 

Obi-Wan spun the co-pilot’s chair around, meeting his friend’s cautious expression. He forced his lips into a small smile, assuring, “You didn’t.” Obi-Wan was uncomfortably aware that Bail had to be ill at ease by the tense atmosphere still permeating the ship. It was also poor manners on their part to leave the senator to his own devices, however tactful Bail had acted, when Anakin had vanished silently into the captain’s cabin, and Bail had vacated the cockpit to let Obi-Wan make his call to Mace in peace. 

Seemingly not in the least convinced by Obi-Wan’s answer, Bail gave him a knowing look as he took the pilot’s seat. He glanced at the nav computer, as if to verify that they still were in the same coordinates, where their short hyperspace jump from the Kwenn Space Station had led them. A look out of the viewport would have told him the same: the planet Ubrikkia was a small sphere in the darkness, a fixed point along the Ootmian Pabol hyperlane. The planet itself was unremarkable, but it was close enough to the Kwenn system to be a good rendezvous spot. 

“Your ship should be here at any moment,” Obi-Wan remarked unnecessarily. “You’ll be back in the glitz and glory of the Senate in no time.”

Bail frowned, looking troubled. “I hope I didn’t…complicate any matters by bringing the holodisk to Anakin. She was quite adamant that I give it to him.”

Something hard was lodged tightly in Obi-Wan’s throat; it was difficult to sound normal, as he said dismissively, “Anakin is an adult and his private life is his business, nothing to do with me.”

“Really?” Bail’s eyebrows rose from disbelief. “Things between you two seem…tense. Is something wrong?” 

“Everything is fine. Just as it should be.” Obi-Wan’s automatic answer was not only deflecting, but sarcastically biting. He regretted it instantly after; Bail deserved better. “Forgive me. It’s been a long day – and even longer war.”

Bail’s mouth pulled into a rueful smile. “That it has.”

A silent understanding settled between them, solemn and unpretentious. Their respective positions placed a heavy burden upon them both; the people that depended on their actions and decisions were numerous, their various interests oftentimes conflicting. Although Bail’s field of battle was the Senate and not an actual warzone, Obi-Wan did not doubt that the responsibility and duty Bail bore equalled – perhaps even surpassed – his own. 

An alarm broke the quiet between them, the freighter’s sensors indicating an approaching ship well before Obi-Wan could see the sleek vessel with his own eyes. “I take it that’s yours?” 

Before Bail could answer, the subspace radio crackled to life. “_Jellyfish_, this is _Starblossom_, here to pick up the package.” 

“Yes,” Bail confirmed a beat later. 

“Affirmative, the package is ready,” Obi-Wan informed the pilot, secretly amused by the names. Starblossom, a fruit that grew on Alderaan, was a little on the nose; the origins of Jellyfish however were a complete mystery. It was one of the false identities Anakin had programmed into the freighter’s computer, insistent that multiple transponder codes were absolutely necessary. 

“Yes, _the package_ is ready,” Bail repeated wryly, his humour completely matching Obi-Wan’s own. Obi-Wan felt a small pang of regret that they hadn’t had more time in each other’s company, and that what little time they had had, the majority of it he himself had spent in a childish sulk. 

“Thank you.” Obi-Wan met Bail’s eyes, hoping to convey his gratitude, not just for Bail going above and beyond to help them solve the origins of the holocron, but for his attempts to help Obi-Wan in a disconcerting situation he knew nothing about. 

“Any time, Obi-Wan,” Bail said sincerely, holding Obi-Wan’s gaze. “Any time you need me, I’ll be there.”

\--

Anakin played Padmé’s message again. When he had seen it the first time, he had hardly heard a third of what she said, too engrossed in watching her, his heart aching at the sight of her beautiful face. The second time, he had tried to take in everything she told, but still could not fully understand her purpose, or what he himself felt about it all. Thoughts too jumbled, feelings conflicted, Anakin hoped that a third viewing would give him some much-needed clarity. 

A hologram of Padmé blinked into existence, and Anakin focused his attention on it, meaning to analyse all the minute shifts in her expression, every pause in her speech, the hidden message behind the words. She had to be holding the recording device in her hand, as only her head and shoulders were visible, and sometimes the hologram shook slightly, like her hold was not quite steady. It seemed she had not planned the message ahead of time, and her opening words all but confirmed it. 

_Anakin – Ani. I don’t have much time. I just learned that Bail is going to meet you, and he is ready to go, waiting. But I had to record this for you, although I don’t know –_

She paused, biting her lip. Again, Anakin felt a pang of worry at seeing her look so uncharacteristically undecided, unsure. However, Padmé’s voice soon continued more assuredly. She looked straight at him, the steadiness of her familiar gaze striking Anakin to the core, reminding him how much he still missed her.

_I hope you are safe and well. Please don’t worry on my account, I am fine. I have thought a lot about us and how we are going to move forward, together or apart._

Anakin’s heart jumped again on cue: together or apart – did that mean she hadn’t decided yet if she truly wanted to leave him? Was there a chance they could be together again? 

_I have something important I need to tell you – that I want to tell you – something that is going to change a lot of things. It’s complicated, but not unwelcome, not to me. I…_

Anakin recognized the small upturn of her mouth, the little crinkling of her eyes: she was happy. And yet, the hesitancy was back in Padmé’s voice; her words were careful, as if she was feeling her way through a darkened room, afraid of stumbling. As if she was wary to tell him whatever she needed to tell him. Perhaps Padmé had decided to get a divorce after all. Was she happy because she had fallen in love with someone else? 

_I’m going to tell you, when we meet again, face to face. Even with the encryption, it’s not something to be stored to a holodisk or something that should be conveyed through a hologram. Ani, I know this must be frustrating for you; I’m sorry I can’t be more specific._

He wanted to shout, tell me now! Why go to such lengths to keep the message secret – tasking Organa to deliver it, encrypting it with the passwords only Anakin knew about – if she nevertheless failed to tell anything important at all? Padmé’s head turned to the side, as if she was listening to something; when her eyes returned to Anakin, her words were hurried. 

_I have to end this message now – please, just be safe. I – I love you._

Padmé’s parting words eased little of the tension her message had awakened in him. She still loved him, just as he loved her. Love, however, did not seem to be enough for their relationship anymore. After all, it had been almost four months ago, when she had claimed via a hologram that she loved him, just before she had told him that she did not want to be his wife anymore. And Anakin loved her, even when he – even when he wanted to kiss another, even when he dreamed of Obi-Wan, when his heart sped up merely from the impossible thought of his Master returning his feelings. 

He swallowed heavily, pushing his guilt down. The way he felt about Obi-Wan had nothing to do with Padmé, and besides, she had given up on their marriage first. And nothing had even happened with Obi-Wan – and it wasn’t as if anything ever would! 

Anakin shut the holodisk, putting it back inside his pocket. He didn’t need to watch it again. It didn’t matter how many times he saw the message, it would not bring him clarity or any understanding of Padmé’s – or his own – feelings. It only left them both in the same place they had been before: in a place of uncertainty, hovering on the brink of a conclusive decision, hesitant to make that final cut to sever a dissolving marriage. To his utter surprise, Anakin found himself thinking that perhaps he would have preferred that cruel finality to the confusing maybes that he did got. 

\--

Obi-Wan was relieved to notice that Anakin’s anger seemed to have tapered off. His former Padawan emerged from his cabin to see Bail off, giving the senator a solemn nod as a goodbye. Obi-Wan watched Anakin from the corner of his eye, assessing his mood even as he exchanged parting words with Bail. Anakin did not appear upset, nor did he seem happy. Mainly, he had a melancholy air about him, although it was hard to be certain: Anakin was silent and withdrawn, and his shields were still tightly shut. 

That impression strengthened, when Bail had gotten safely to his own vessel, and Anakin and Obi-Wan were once again the only living things on the freighter. Anakin handed over the pilot’s seat without any protests, letting Obi-Wan set their course back towards Boz Pity, where their troops were still taking a much-needed breather. His Padawan stayed only to watch the ship enter hyperspace; then he left the cockpit, leaving Obi-Wan alone at the controls. 

Tired, Obi-Wan stared at the hypnotic deep-blue of the space tunnel, feeling quite inert and out of his depth. He knew he had to talk to Anakin, but he recoiled at the very thought of trying to wade into his friend’s messy relationship with Padmé. There was no avoiding it forever though; Padmé cast a large shadow upon them, Anakin’s longing for her the cause of the awkwardness and tenseness between Obi-Wan and his former Padawan. Even now, the memory of Anakin relieving his physical urges lingered on the edges of his mind. Again, he pushed at it, trying to force it out. Anakin’s blinding desire had not been meant for him; he had been just an involuntary witness, at the worst a despicable voyeur. Resolutely, he once again resolved to forget the incident completely.

The stars streaked past; Obi-Wan thought that he had time to sit by himself a little longer. There had not been many moments during the war, when he could just be by himself uninterrupted, no tasks or duties to perform, no plans or reviews to make. He let the moment of peace settle over him, but it only highlighted the lone beat of his solitary heart. Perhaps he was not made for idleness: he found himself browsing through the freighter’s main computer for want of something to do. 

The ship did not have an identiplate; Obi-Wan did not know if Anakin had removed it, or if it had already been missing, when Anakin had found the vessel in a scrapyard on Praadost II. The freighter had had no name, and as if to make up for that omission, it now had several. Obi-Wan scrolled down the list of aliases – _Pilgrim, Jellyfish, Atlas, Fortunate Son, Torrent_ –, until one name stood out from the rest and made him pause in contemplation. He instinctively knew it was the ship’s real name: _Unity_.

A nameless ache reverberated in his closed mind, crashing against his ironclad shields, reminding him of a time – an endless moment –, when he and Anakin had truly been as one. Their memories, thoughts, _beings_, had been there for the other to see and feel; there had been no secrets and misunderstandings between them, their bond turned from a useful instrument into a place to rest, a secret space of their own.

Obi-Wan leapt to his feet, unwilling to bear the lonely silence any longer. He would bet anything that Anakin felt exactly the same. One of them had to make the first move; it might as well be him. 

He found Anakin in one of the passenger cabins, sitting by a table full of dirty machine parts. The bunk had been stripped of any bedding and its surface turned into another worktop, filled to the brim with various pieces of junk. His Padawan was well on his way into turning the cabin into his personal workshop. 

Before Obi-Wan could say anything, Anakin beat him to it with a resigned apology. “I’m sorry,” he said, voice subdued, eyes still fixed on whatever he was repairing. “I shouldn’t have lost my temper like that – I don’t know why I always do.”

“You still have something to learn then, like all the rest of us.” Obi-Wan took him at his word; in the past his Padawan had often only paid lip service, saying what he thought Obi-Wan wanted to hear, but now Anakin sounded truly sincere. Wanting to lighten the atmosphere, Obi-Wan quipped, “Besides, if you never made any mistakes, then you wouldn’t have your old Master griping about them. And where would I be then?” 

Anakin’s gaze settled upon Obi-Wan, the blue of his eyes intense. “By my side, as always – I hope.”

Obi-Wan’s heart skipped a beat; he cleared his throat. “Well…naturally. To let you loose unsupervised would be a crime against the whole galaxy.” His attempt at humour was feeble, but it made Anakin grin nevertheless. The tense atmosphere subsided a little, like a persistent foul weather was finally easing off. 

Anakin shifted uneasily in his chair, saying hesitantly, “Master, about what happened…” He cast Obi-Wan a furtive glance from under his mop of wild hair, before turning his gaze away again, as if deeply embarrassed. “That night – I didn’t mean to…I was –”

“I understand,” Obi-Wan hurried to point out, feeling a hot flush spread across his cheeks. He did _not_ need Anakin to elaborate any further. 

“You do?” Anakin asked disbelievingly. There was something fragile in his eyes, a small glimmer of hope that Obi-Wan didn’t know how to interpret. He chose to focus on Anakin’s incredulity instead. 

Obi-Wan almost snorted out loud. Did his former Padawan really think Obi-Wan was some delicate prude, who was shocked by what he had witnessed? That he hadn’t seen or heard far more explicit things, that he himself had never engaged in sexual pleasure? He covered his sudden inappropriate amusement with a didactic teacher-tone: “Although I hope that in the future, you conduct your urges entirely in private, it was a natural reaction. I know how much you miss her, how she must be in your mind a great deal.”

“Her,” Anakin stated flatly. 

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes at his friend’s wilful obtuseness. “Yes, _her_. Padmé. Your secret wife.”

“Of course.” Anakin swallowed heavily, for some unfathomable reason looking both disappointed and relieved at the same time. “Thank you for being so…_understanding_.” 

Something prickled along Obi-Wan’s spine; he had a strange feeling that he had just been made fun of – that he had missed something important. Before he had time to mull it over, Anakin continued even more seriously, “All the same, I am sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. The last thing I wanted was to drive you away.”

Obi-Wan felt a twinge of guilt. No wonder Anakin had thought that Obi-Wan had been disapproving and unaccepting of his faux pas, Obi-Wan having withdrawn from their bond, hiding behind his shields. He shook his head, apologetic. “I too am sorry, if I made you feel like you were being punished for that…I had a lot in my mind and I…well, I did what I have become accustomed to – I closed myself off from you. I swore to myself some time ago that I wouldn’t do that anymore, but I guess old habits truly die hard. I promise that I will endeavour to act better in the future.”

Acts had to follow words: to show he was in earnest, Obi-Wan loosened his tight shields, opening them slightly. Anakin did the same only a fraction of a second later, and the tautness in their bond began to ease. It felt like Obi-Wan could breathe more freely, as if something heavy had been lifted from his chest. Anakin was back in his mind, a steady and bright pulse of Force-enveloped life. Still cautious, they both held back the flood of emotions and thoughts, only letting the general feel of their mood – wariness, relief, sheepishness, joy – to wrap around the other. 

It was a far cry from the pure delight of deep joint meditation – of Unity – but for the moment it was enough. Obi-Wan felt something in himself unwind, a tightening he hadn’t even been aware of unspooling. His headache lessened, the echoing ache submitting under Anakin’s steadfast presence. Anakin too, seemed more relaxed, the deep lines around his eyes smoothing out. An alarming thought came to Obi-Wan: had they been experiencing withdrawal symptoms? Had both of their bad moods gotten worse, their explosive tempers coming to a head, because they were closed off from one another? 

Obi-Wan, not willing to do anything to dim Anakin’s small smile or lessen his friend’s silent contentment, decided to address any possible shortcomings of their Force-connection later. For now, they had earned their shared moment of peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, they are talking again - kind of :D Obi-Wan is still in denial-land, but not for long, I promise...


	12. Mimban, part I

The mud squelched under his steps, stuck stubbornly to his boots, in turns slippery and sticky. Anakin slid down the gentle slope to the ravine below, almost losing his balance in the process. Luckily, after some undignified wobbling of legs and flapping of arms, he managed to stay on his feet and did not hurtle ass over teakettle to where Rex was waiting for him. 

His second in command tilted his helmeted head in greeting, amusement briefly flaring in the Force around him until familiar weariness again took over. Anakin grimaced sheepishly, wiping water from his face. As usual, the rain continued its steady, maddening drizzle, keeping everyone wet and cold and miserable. 

Anakin crouched down next to the large rock Rex was leaning against, the rest of the squad spread out near their Captain, sprawling in the mud. Their armour was more brown-black at this point than white, dried and caked dirt covered with a fresh layer of mud. Anakin could feel each of them in the Force – Payoff, Styx, Hellion, Thacker, Thom, and Dash – their bone-deep exhaustion, their thick grief resonating in his own heart.

“Everything alright?” Anakin asked quietly, peering into the distance. The ravine opened up before him, empty and still, shrouded in the foggy greyness that seemed to permeate the whole kriffing planet, or at least the continent they had traipsed all around for close to a month in their effort to defend the Mimbanese. 

“Just peachy, General,” Rex grunted. “Although I wouldn’t mind if this rain took a _long_ break.”

“I’m sure none of us would mind, Rex – apart from that fungus trying to establish a new colony in my robe.” Grumbling aside, they both knew Rex didn’t strictly speaking have to be there, keeping watch over an empty expanse with the Havoc squadron. However, in true Rex-style the Captain had unassumingly volunteered himself for the task, as the squad was short on men, having lost three of their number only the day before. Squadrons being shorthanded at that stage of the war was more of a rule than an exception, so Rex’s gesture was more about supporting his men than making personally sure the enemy didn’t flank them as companies from the 501st and 212th tried to set up camp on the nearby hill. 

“Fungus colony sir?” Rex queried, sounding like he already regretted his question. 

Anakin, knowing the men around him were listening and wanting to take their minds of their fallen comrades – if even for a moment – launched into a spirited explanation: “Yeah, these little brown blighters, looks like common dirt first, except they _spread_. Oh, they’re alive alright, munching away at my robe. Can’t wear that thing anymore – woke up a couple of nights ago, when something _wiggled_ against my leg, itching like crazy.” 

“You sure that was the fungus, sir?” Thom sniggered. “And not some other itch?” 

“_Shab_ Thom, shut up!” Dash hissed, even as Payoff and Hellion were trying to unsuccessfully stifle their laughter. 

Thacker whacked Thom on the head, pushing his brother’s helmet into the mud. “Sorry sir, don’t mind him. He’s _brain-damaged_.” 

“Mind what?” Anakin deadpanned, satisfied with his success. Mission accomplished, Anakin started to clamber back up the hill, leaving Havoc squad squabbling amongst themselves in jest, Rex looking on long-sufferingly.

Although joking, Thom hadn’t been exactly wrong – there was a particular itch Anakin just couldn’t get out of his system. That itch was _Obi-Wan Kenobi_, his stupid dignified beard and his stupid handsome face and his stupid _everything_. The minuscule hope Anakin had clung to, that the infatuation would run its course in time, had evaporated completely, leaving him hopelessly resigned to his fate. He had accepted the truth he had already known for a while: what he felt for Obi-Wan was not a crush nor a passing phase. It was deep, abiding and faithful – it was his love for his Master acquiring a new facet, the old familiar feelings transmuting into renewed shapes, taking him into uncharted territory. 

A territory which he was the sole explorer at the moment, to Anakin’s continuous annoyance. Somehow, even though Anakin had hardly been subtle about it – sometimes he couldn’t help but stare at Obi-Wan’s lips and his hands and that flash of skin that showed between the high collar of his tunic and his beard – Obi-Wan seemed to remain totally oblivious to Anakin’s changed feelings for him. Bluntly put, his brilliant Master was dumber than Jar Jar, when it came to Anakin wanting to suck his cock. 

It was supremely frustrating, not to mention baffling; Anakin was starting to suspect it was nothing short of wilful ignorance. Maybe Obi-Wan pretended to be unaware, because he didn’t want to deal with, what he considered to be, his former Padawan’s inconvenient and embarrassing infatuation. Perhaps Obi-Wan did not acknowledge Anakin’s feelings because he didn’t want to hurt Anakin by turning him down.

And yet, that theory didn’t quite rang true. Anakin didn’t sense any purposeful deceit in Obi-Wan, his Master’s actions sometimes evading, but never misleading. Obi-Wan had not continued to hide behind his shields, but to Anakin’s utter relief had kept his end of the bond partly open. Things were not like they had been in Ossus – Force, Anakin missed that place, the warm sun, the _closeness_ – but then again, things were not like they had been in Kwenn either, and whatever distance there was now between them, it lacked the awful emptiness and impotent anger their relationship had succumbed to in those days spent on the space station. 

Anakin was met with the object of his musings, when he finally managed to slither up the hill, having slipped only once. Obi-Wan was in the midst of the hustle and bustle of the half-constructed encampment, helping to set up a large troop tent, although the Jedi’s smaller tent had already been put up. His wet hair was plastered to his scalp, auburn strands dark; he had discarded his robe somewhere and he looked chilly, his skin too pale even in the dimness of the day. 

Cody, hovering close to his General, turned to face Anakin as he stepped up to them. Even with the helmet covering his face, it was obvious that the Commander was exasperated, nearing the end of his rope. He nodded sharply towards Obi-Wan, conveying to Anakin clearly: _You deal with this – sir_. 

Anakin suppressed a vexed sigh. It seemed a Padawan’s work was never done, even if one was a _former_ Padawan. When the tent was finally standing firmly on the muddy ground, Anakin laid his hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder, halting his Master’s move towards another tent the clones were struggling to get up.

“Let’s take a break,” he said, gesturing meaningfully towards their own tent. 

Of course, his stubborn Master frowned at Anakin’s reasonable suggestion, shaking his head. “There’s still plenty to do; I might as well be useful and help things along.” 

“Obi-Wan, there’s plenty to do every day, but only one of you. Now, _please_ take a break with me, before Cody gets an aneurysm from all the stress you are giving him.” 

Obi-Wan huffed in disbelief, but one glance at Cody wilted his mulish expression. “Alright,” he acquiesced with a guilty grimace, “I have some reports I have to go through.” 

Anakin groaned, almost sniping that going through reports hardly constituted taking a break, but wisely decided that it was more important to get Obi-Wan into somewhere moderately dry first; after that, Anakin could deal with the reports, by confiscating his Master’s datapads if necessary. 

They ducked into their tent, the air inside the canvas smelling damp and muddy, but as it was blissfully free of the drizzle, Anakin couldn’t have cared less about the smell. He thanked silently the industrious clones who had already put everything to their proper places: a fold-up table and chairs stood in the middle, while two cots had been placed at the opposite sides of the tent, both having a soldier’s trunk at their end. Someone had even thoughtfully put their rucksacks and bedrolls on top of the cots, and Obi-Wan’s missing robe had been neatly folded next to his things. 

Anakin turned the glowlamps on, the light appearing momentarily too bright after the perpetual dusk of the outdoors. Obi-Wan perched on his trunk, having already sneakily acquired a small stack of datapads from somewhere, while Anakin’s back had been turned. He was far too pale, the constellation of freckles standing out more starkly than usual against the pallor of his skin. There were dark circles round his tired grey-blue eyes. The harshness of the current campaign was clearly etched on Obi-Wan’s face; Anakin wondered what tales his own countenance told. 

“None of that now, Master. You should be resting, getting out of those wet clothes.” Anakin threw his most reproachful look at Obi-Wan, trying to guilt him into compliance. The old trick had a varied rate of success, but could be usually depended on to get results, at least if his Master wasn’t in his most pig-headed mood. 

Obi-Wan glanced ruefully at the closed tent opening. “There hardly seems any point – I am just going to get wet again.” 

“There are many, _many_ points, only one of them being the importance of humouring your long-suffering Padawan,” Anakin quipped, hoping to see the tightness in Obi-Wan’s features ease a little. He looked at the topmost databad his Master was holding, adding under his breath, “Besides, I’m willing to bet there’s nothing new there since the last time you looked.”

Obi-Wan sighed, finally putting the datapads grudgingly aside. “_That_, you are right about.” No new information had come from Master Kyuun in weeks, and Anakin knew that Obi-Wan had already examined countless times the images the archaeologist Jedi had sent from Ossus, not finding anything noteworthy in them. It was the same with news about Quinlan Vos: there was no news. The Council had dispatched Vos to track down Ventress, to solve what part the witch played in the mystery of the holocron, but the Kiffar Jedi had not been heard from since the start of his mission – or if he had, the Council just hadn’t bothered to tell them about it. 

A wave of frustration surged across their bond, a mutual feeling of impatience and impotence. However much they both chafed against it, investigating the origins of the time-travel device was out of their hands; at presently, all Obi-Wan and Anakin could do was to trust in the work of others. As usual, Anakin struggled with the idea of relinquishing the responsibility – the control – to someone else, but it helped to know that Obi-Wan shared at least some of Anakin’s frustrations. 

“How’s the Havoc squadron?” Obi-Wan asked suddenly. His eyes were soft with sympathy. 

Anakin turned his head aside, avoiding his Master’s understanding gaze. “They are coping. It’s business as usual.”

A heavy despondency threatened to pull Anakin under, the bitter tang of it depressingly familiar. More and more the Republic fought for control of planets and systems they had already once liberated from the Separatists with the high price of wrecked and lost lives. Mimban was no exception: in the first year of the war, the 224th Division had helped the Mimbanese Liberation Army to repel the invading Seps, and yet the Republic was now fighting over the same miserable muddy ground, Anakin’s men continuing to pay for it with their blood. Business as usual indeed. 

“It was not your fault,” Obi-Wan said gently. 

“Wasn’t it? _I_ am responsible for my men; _I_ was too slow to help them.” His failure was still fresh enough that it made every bruise ache anew, the throbbing pain reaching as deep as his heart. 

“Anakin –”

“Anyway, we were talking about your inability to take care of yourself, don’t try to change the subject.” Anakin had no desire to talk about the men he had lost yesterday – or the day before that, or on any given day of the war. It would surely lead to an unravelling that could not be taken back; a pouring of grief and anger that had no place or time in their current circumstances. 

Obi-Wan shot Anakin a pointed look, indicating that he knew very well that Anakin was evading hard topics by focusing on Obi-Wan’s well-being. To Anakin however, there was not a more serious subject than his Master’s health. Perhaps something of that constant concern came through their bond, for Obi-Wan started to rummage his trunk for spare clothes without any further protest. 

Anakin swallowed his whoop of victory, hurriedly turning away from his Master as the impossible, stupidly brilliant man started to peel off his wet garments. 

\--

Obi-Wan tugged his overtunic properly in place, silently admitting to himself that the dry clothes felt heavenly against his cool skin. He glanced at Anakin, who was still facing away from him, fiddling with something in his pocket. Lately, his former Padawan had been more self-conscious about them undressing in front of each other, his new-found odd modesty no doubt some kind of attempt to appease Obi-Wan’s _delicate sensibilities_. 

“You should follow your own advice,” Obi-Wan told him; the way the wet tunic clung to Anakin’s neck and arms hadn’t escaped his notice. 

“What?” Anakin mumbled as if he had just startled awake. 

Obi-Wan gestured at him, feeling his mouth twitch at Anakin’s confusion. “Wet clothes – bad. Dry clothes – good.”

“Oh, right.” Anakin started to laboriously take off his tabard, the wet synthetic leather unwieldy and heavy. 

Obi-Wan frowned; Anakin should have protected himself better against the rain. “Where is your robe?” The fact that Obi-Wan had dispensed with his own robe was immaterial. It had been a hindrance, when he had helped the men set up the camp. 

Anakin’s face twisted into a grimace. “It’s unsalvageable…the fungus…”

_I will not ask_, Obi-Wan thought firmly. _I will not_.

“The fungus?” Obi-Wan asked, incredulous. 

“Yeah, the little brown things, taking over my robe.” Anakin sounded both disgusted and indignant. 

“Anakin, that’s _dirt_.”

“It’s _alive_, I know it is,” Anakin claimed sullenly, yanking his tunics off all at once. Obi-Wan’s sarcastic retort died at his lips; he was left speechless by the black and blue mottled expanse that was his Padawan’s bare back. 

“What’s this?” Obi-Wan crossed the tent in a few strides, coming to stand behind Anakin. His fingers hovered over the largest of the bruises, knowing it had to be still quite painful. No wonder Anakin had been sleeping on his stomach. 

“Oh, it’s nothing.” Anakin’s shoulders rose as he shrugged; Obi-Wan was close enough to see the almost imperceptible wince that rippled across his skin. 

“Anakin –”

“I got thrown against a tank, that’s all.”

Some of the bruises seemed nasty, and Obi-Wan wondered how deep they went, if more than skin and tissue had been damaged. “Has a medic taken a look at these? Why am I even asking – of course you haven’t shown these to anyone.”

“They are just bruises,” Anakin downplayed his injury, sounding uncomfortable. 

“It doesn’t hurt to be sure,” Obi-Wan tut-tutted. “I’ll make certain that Kix examines these.” 

“If you _must_,” Anakin huffed. His back was still to Obi-Wan, but Obi-Wan could well imagine the miffed expression on his face. 

“I _really do_, Padawan mine.” Anakin shivered; Obi-Wan noted that he had to be cold standing there, his upper body bare. Anakin’s broad shoulders carried a perfectly proportioned, strong back, its muscles clearly defined, the line of his spine leading towards a well-rounded bottom. The wide back tapered into a surprisingly slim waist, and there was a lovely dip at the small of his back. All of it was solid and hardy, yet still so fragile, defenceless against too many weapons. 

Perhaps it was in commiseration of the painful bruises, or maybe Obi-Wan was suffering from an acute case of temporary insanity, for he couldn’t really explain why he did what he did next, why he felt the overwhelming need to kiss the top of Anakin’s spine, press his lips against that vulnerable spot. 

“_Obi-Wan_,” Anakin groaned, his gravelly voice settling somewhere deep in Obi-Wan, igniting dried up wants to a sudden, devastating blaze. 

Something momentous and formidable, galaxy-shattering, was charging against the barriers of Obi-Wan’s consciousness, demanding recognition. His heart beat hard and fast, its thudding like thunder. His throat was too dry for him to speak, even if he could have thought something to say. Obi-Wan stumbled hurriedly backwards, needing desperately to be elsewhere. 

“I’ll…I’ll get Kix,” he finally managed to croak, rushing out of the tent like it was on fire, leaving most likely a very confused former Padawan behind. 

The next hour went by in a haze; mind purposefully, resolutely blank, Obi-Wan first sought out Kix, directing him to Anakin. Then he wandered across the camp, seeing if there was something he could help his men with, but all the tents had already been set up and the clones seemed to have things well in hand. Not willing to brave Cody’s reproachful glare, Obi-Wan dodged his Commander, deciding to seek a peaceful place to meditate, to set his thoughts in their proper, reasonable order.

He ended up outside the encampment, on a rocky ledge that overlooked the ravine. The grey fog blanketed the view, made it impossible to see what was ahead or behind, invoking a feeling of being lost. But Obi-Wan had to only reach with the Force, and he could see the gorge below, the forest of tents behind. He was only ever as blind as he let himself be. 

_Excuses, avoidance, forgetting. These are not options. You have to know what you did and why you did it – that’s the starting point. Without those truths, it is all too easy to follow a dark path again, make those same kinds of mistakes._

He had told Anakin that on Nerit, seemingly a lifetime ago. His Padawan had bravely taken up the challenge; it was high time Obi-Wan did the same and stopped acting like a hypocrite. He would follow his own advice, confronting the feelings he had long suppressed, acknowledging the emotions he had stubbornly pretended didn’t exist. However uncomfortable and hard it turned out to be, however terrifying, Obi-Wan would face his passionate feelings – his _love_ – for Anakin head on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! It _only_ took almost 100 000 words, but finally these two acknowledge their feelings to themselves (if not yet to each other) :D


	13. Mimban, part II

Anakin slumped into a chair, stunned and bewildered. The junction of his neck and back tingled, the ghost of Obi-Wan’s kiss still present, the press of his warm lips like another bruise. The tent boomed with the sudden silence, the space oddly empty now that he was the only one in it. Anakin looked at the hastily shut opening; one corner of the canvas flapped in the wind, a sign of Obi-Wan’s hurried exit only moments before. 

What had just happened? Anakin’s mind was in such overdrive, it was hard to untangle the infinite number of feelings and questions and speculation to even start to process it all. Foremost in his thoughts was a simple wonder: Obi-Wan had kissed him. His Master had pressed his mouth on the top of Anakin’s spine, gently and purposely. That action seemed to have come as a complete surprise to them both, judging by the fact that Obi-Wan had rushed out of the tent with the half-baked pretext of getting a medic. 

Later, Anakin could not tell how long he sat there, dwelling upon that kiss – the feel of Obi-Wan’s lips, the nearness of him, his breath on Anakin’s bare neck, the concern, the _care_ of it – but he was suddenly yanked out of his rousing musings by Kix unceremoniously entering the tent. 

“Sir, General Kenobi said your back needs tending.” The clone took one look at Anakin, his lips thinning in silent admonishment. Anakin realized his upper body was still bare; it was futile to deny the colourful state of his back. 

“It’s nothing,” he said by rote, but didn’t protest when Kix took a closer look at the bruises. He fell silent as the medic carefully examined the injuries, only answering the regular questions about pain levels and whatnot absentmindedly. Anakin knew both the absence of the familiar banter and the lack of trying to avoid further medical attention was alarming Kix more than the bruising, but Anakin could not summon any will to engage in his usual behaviour. He was still busy reeling with the fact that his known universe was rapidly changing: could it be – could it _truly_ be – that Obi-Wan returned his hopeless feelings? 

The more Anakin thought about it, the more probable it seemed. Why else would Obi-Wan had acted the way he had? Although far from a cold man, his Master had never been a particularly tactile person. As a young Padawan, Anakin had gotten the occasional hug from Obi-Wan, but more common had been his comforting hand on Anakin’s shoulder. He had yearned for his Master’s nearness and reassurance; even when he had rebelled against that yearning in his teens, he had still needed Obi-Wan’s steady presence at his side. Anakin would never accuse Obi-Wan of being indifferent to him, but he had always felt like there was an invisible wall between them: the last barrier that Obi-Wan held up and Anakin wanted to tear open. A distance that his Master needed to maintain as desperately as Anakin wanted to dissolve it, however much he himself had contributed to it by keeping a tight hold on his own secrets. 

With sudden clarity, Anakin realized that distance had slowly diminished ever since he had found Obi-Wan on Kushibah six months ago, since they had shared the deep joint meditation. Nowhere had that been as evident as in Ossus, where Anakin had gotten used to sleeping next to his Master, Obi-Wan’s arm more often than not around him. Now it amazed him that in such a short time, Anakin had grown accustomed to Obi-Wan’s casual touches, never closely considering what they really signified. 

The great negotiator knew how to skirt the truth, how to imply and withhold information, lie without lying, or as Obi-Wan called it: _telling the truth from a certain point of view_. His Master had no qualms about persuading others by twisting the truth to further the lives of those that depended on him, and it was one of the things Anakin admired about his friend. Not for the first time, Anakin thought that Obi-Wan would have made a truly successful and formidable politician. However, Obi-Wan also had a tendency to use his gift with words for less than noble purposes, mainly to deflect from his own feelings and wellbeing. But even though he could weave elaborate disguises around himself with his words, his actions always revealed the core of him. The true honesty was in the way Obi-Wan acted, for his Master could not act in contrary to what he believed in. 

Obi-Wan had _kissed_ him, and even with the most conservative of interpretations – it was only to Anakin’s back, only meant to soothe – that kiss had _not_ been wholly platonic. True, Anakin was hardly the best person to judge that, as there was a clear danger his immense feelings for Obi-Wan could distort his view of the act, but he recognized – he _felt_ – the press of something beyond any simple intent to comfort. 

“Sir?” Kix’s enquiring voice interrupted Anakin’s contemplations. He inferred from the medic’s wary tone that it was not the first time Kix had tried to get his attention. 

“All finished?”

“Yes sir.” Kix packed up his first-aid kit quickly and neatly, like he had done countless times before. “There isn’t any deeper damage, but it is going to hurt like hell the next couple of days.” 

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Anakin muttered, flashing his trustworthy medic a grin. “Thanks.”

Kix shook his head. “Just, next time, don’t wait this long. These should have been looked after earlier.” He was watching Anakin like he had something else still to say, his gaze considering, but he ended up only nodding sharply before leaving the tent. 

Anakin pulled on a clean undertunic, and then picked up his wet tabard and tunics from his cot, where he had discarded them earlier. Before he hung the garments up to dry on a makeshift clothes line someone had thoughtfully rigged up, he fished out his river stone from the overtunic’s pocket. Once again, he had taken to carrying it with him wherever he went, ever since he had left Coruscant to find Obi-Wan. Anakin couldn’t help but think it gave him good luck; more importantly, it was a reminder of the connection he shared with his Master. 

Now he held the stone, feeling its familiar warmth, willing it to give him both courage and clarity. Courage to confront Obi-Wan and clarity to see behind the facades to the heart of the matter. For Anakin was done with all the confusion and pining and evasion; he was resolved to finally get to the bottom of what lay between them. For better or worse, the truth would come out. 

\--  


It took Obi-Wan quite some time to assemble his churning thoughts into any kind of sensible order; longer yet to look behind all the lies he had told himself for so long. Sitting cross-legged on the rocky ground, the discomfort of sharp stones and the still drizzling rain paled in comparison with the uncomfortableness of examining all he felt for Anakin. 

First, there was the shock and shame and heavy guilt. Anakin was his Padawan. _Former_, yes, but still always the boy Obi-Wan had taught and taken care of. There was no getting away from that hard fact, from the indisputable truth that somewhere, somehow, Obi-Wan had gone fundamentally wrong with his relationship with Anakin. When had his feelings morphed from familial love to something more, when had they been mixed with the seeds of deep romantic love, heady sexual desire? _When_ was perhaps the most difficult and damning question, not least because some of the possible answers were too monstrous to even contemplate. There was no easily discernible timeline of Obi-Wan’s falling in love or his descent into madness, as it could be otherwise undoubtedly called. 

Obi-Wan had never felt so betrayed by his own emotions; they had plunged him into an abyss, into an unknown territory that was dangerous and unstable. Alongside the guilt, there was fear too. How would all of it affect his relationship with Anakin? How on earth could he ever get back to that simpler time, when Anakin had been his dear brother and friend and nothing else, a time when things still made sense? He could not – Obi-Wan knew it viscerally, with a certainty that came straight from his heart – he would never get back to that time. Whatever happened, he would always be utterly entangled, helplessly attached, loving Anakin beyond reason or hope. 

Still, impossibly, there _was_ hope. Anakin wanted him too; it was in his every yearning gaze, every lingering touch, every abashed smile. Obi-Wan marvelled at how he had managed to be so wilfully blind for so long, how he had stubbornly refused to see that which had been right in front of his own nose – and in some cases, _in his arms_. Now that Obi-Wan finally let himself feel it, Anakin’s affection was an intoxicating thing. His former Padawan’s regard and longing echoed gently through their bond like wind chimes, calling the faithful to their prayers. At last Obi-Wan recognized it for what it was: an entreaty for him to answer. 

It filled him with such elation – and such regret. What cruelty to be tempted in such a fashion! To have hope, only for it to be taken away with a wave of despair, by the knowledge that it could never be. The bitter acceptance of reality forced its way into Obi-Wan’s mind, dashing any fantasy he had dared to even briefly entertain. They both had too many responsibilities and promises to uphold, vows to the Jedi Order and to the Republic – and in Anakin’s case, to his _wife_ –, to discard it all away for something that had a fairly big possibility of ending in some painful personal disaster; they would not only be affecting themselves negatively, but potentially so many other people as well. 

Perhaps, when the war was finally over, their duty done, they could – but no, it was futile to indulge in such impossible daydreams. 

Succumbing to temptation, surrendering themselves unconditionally to the intense, overwhelming feelings between them, would surely lead only to heartbreak. The image of old Ben – of himself in the future – flashed through Obi-Wan’s mind: was that the reason he had ended up alone in the middle of Tatooinian wasteland, why there had been an irrevocable falling-out between him and Anakin? The sorrow and longing in Ben made more sense now, even when the old man’s situation was still hard to fathom. 

Certain of the direction he had to take, Obi-Wan was determined to not act on his newly acknowledged feelings. He and Anakin would continue to be friends, brothers, comrade-in-arms. Whatever else they wanted to be to each other, would only be a secret dream, not to be spoken out loud. Surely, Anakin would recover, focusing all his attention again on Padmé. And Obi-Wan – maybe, with some distance, he would not ache with his silent love; perhaps, with some time, he would not regret every moment he had to spend alone. 

\--

The grey evening had already turned into a dark night, when Obi-Wan finally entered the tent cautiously, clearly expecting – or perhaps just hoping – to find Anakin fast asleep. Anakin had turned off all but one of the glowlamps, its dimmed light casting long shadows across the canvas. Time had slogged laboriously onward, every slow step a test for Anakin’s patience. Waiting for his Master, Anakin had paced around the tent, read old reports, looked at maps, had even tried to meditate. As more time went on, it had occurred to him that maybe Obi-Wan would try to avoid his company altogether by sleeping somewhere else, but that seemed too cowardly for his Master. Obi-Wan would come back, if only to explain to Anakin how the kiss had not meant anything at all. 

_Actions reveal the truth, not words_, Anakin reminded himself as Obi-Wan’s eyes unerringly found his, no surprise evident in their grey-blue depths. His Master paused for a small moment at the opening, before purposefully striding to his own nook of the tent, leaving as much room between them as there could be in the small space. 

“You’re still up,” Obi-Wan remarked needlessly, untying his tabard with slow and precise movements. 

Anakin snorted, “And you’re wet – again.” His legs shifted restlessly; Anakin forced himself to stay put on his cot. He hadn’t bothered to open his bedroll, knowing that which ever way the confrontation went, he would probably not get any sleep that night. 

“Really? I hadn’t noticed.” Only half of Obi-Wan’s face was visible to Anakin, the familiar contours streaked with shadows. Anakin had to imagine the upward twist of lips that usually accompanied his Master’s dry tone of voice. He watched as Obi-Wan took off his overtunic, hanging it neatly next to Anakin’s. 

“There’s a lot you haven’t seemed to notice lately.” Anakin’s heartbeat was picking up pace as he ventured further along their bond, questing at Obi-Wan’s emotions. Only a trickle came through his Master’s strong shields; resolve mixed with trepidation. It matched perfectly with Anakin’s own feelings. 

Obi-Wan had turned away from him, making no move to strip off rest of his clothes. His brown undertunic was damp, clinging to his skin. “It’s late,” he said tonelessly. 

“Yes, it is,” Anakin admitted, meaning more than the hour. It suddenly seemed that they had headed for that moment for most of their lives; it had been slow going and they had come to it almost despite themselves – but better late than never. 

“Goodnight then, Anakin.” Obi-Wan sounded dismissive; busying himself with arranging his bedroll, his back was _still_ to Anakin. 

_Oh, it’s going to be like this, is it?_ Anakin thought rebelliously. His Master should have remembered that Anakin was as kriffing tenacious, as mulishly pig-headed as Obi-Wan himself – and that he fought dirty. “You’re going to be awfully uncomfortable in those wet clothes. Aren’t you going to take them off before going to sleep?”

Obi-Wan stilled, his shoulders visibly stiffening. Anakin couldn’t help the sly smirk from taking over his face. 

Knowing he had been effectively backed into a corner, Obi-Wan pulled off his undertunic, clearly irritated. Anakin was already standing; in a few strides he had prowled across the tent, coming to stand just behind his Master in a pointed mirroring of their earlier positions. His breath raised goose bumps across Obi-Wan’s bare skin. Anakin fixed his gaze on _that_ spot on Obi-Wan’s back, wanting to return the kiss. Obi-Wan clearly sensed Anakin’s intent, for he spun quickly around, cheeks red with embarrassment – or perhaps with something else. His mouth was drawn into a disapproving line, his jaw tightly clenched. “Don’t.”

“Oh, so you can do it, but I can’t?” Anakin retorted, part of him royally annoyed even as another part was busy admiring Obi-Wan’s bare chest, his beautifully toned arms and shoulders. 

Faced with the sharp accusation, Obi-Wan’s expression lost some of its tightness, his gaze softening. “Anakin, I’m sorry, what I did was –”

“No! Don’t you dare tell me that you are sorry,” Anakin started vehemently, ending up almost pleading, “I _know_ you are not.” 

“Anakin…” The name tumbled helplessly from Obi-Wan’s lips. The look in his Master’s eyes was close to beseeching, silently willing Anakin to leave the matter be. Anakin however, had no intention of letting Obi-Wan off the hook. 

“You can’t hide from me,” Anakin declared confidently, although a small seed of doubt still lived in him, insidiously whispering that no-one like Obi-Wan could ever even look at Anakin _that way_. “I know you want it too!”

Obi-Wan shook his head as if to refute Anakin’s bold claim, but no words of denial left his lips. He looked at Anakin, looked right _into_ him, and in that moment his gaze was clear, without any shadows to conceal how much and how deeply he felt. The bitter-sweetness of it made Anakin ache and burn, flipped his stomach upside down. 

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin murmured, a sudden flush of affection for the dear man standing in font of him flooding him, shaking him to his core. _Oh, I really do love him_, he thought, dazed. _Truly, wholly, madly._

Perhaps all of it was written across Anakin’s face; his Master suddenly looked crestfallen. 

“This will not happen,” Obi-Wan said, sounding definite. “Anakin, this _cannot_ happen.” And maybe in some other time the words would have crushed Anakin, would have made him yield and sullenly retreat in defeat, but Anakin _knew_ those words. He had heard them before in a dream, for Obi-Wan had said those _exact_ words to him in the dreamscape of the empty Jedi Temple, inside the Holocron Vault. And Anakin knew what happened next – 

Beaming with elation, with the surety of fate, Anakin reached for Obi-Wan; watched how his Master’s eyes widened, how he leaned unconsciously towards Anakin, so they could meet in the middle in a soft press of lips. A simple thing, almost innocent – their mouths set against one another, warm and chapped, barely a kiss. And still such a thrill, making Anakin shiver with want.

They withdrew only a little; their breaths ghosted across parted lips, their noses brushed feather-light, fingers came to gently rest on the back of the neck, cup the bearded cheek. A careful, reverent intimacy that made the heart swell with joy. 

“_Master_,” Anakin gasped, the word meaning everything, in that moment easily encompassing Anakin’s whole universe. 

Obi-Wan’s answer was to press his hot mouth against Anakin’s, sure and keen. Anakin’s eyes slid close as his Master’s tongue swept across his lower lip, coaxing its way inside Anakin’s mouth. Eagerly, his own tongue dipped in to taste Obi-Wan, clumsy in his haste. 

His Master was so close – closer than he had ever been, bare chest pressed against Anakin, only the thin layer of Anakin’s undertunic separating their skin, his fingers slowly stroking the back of Anakin’s neck in maddening, hypnotic circles, while his tongue continued to lick brazenly the inside of Anakin’s mouth. It felt like every one of Anakin’s nerve endings were on fire – like a question or a plea or a prayer he hadn’t even known he had made had been finally, unexpectedly answered. 

It felt like something inside of him had first broken and then had been made whole again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what do you think about that first kiss, worth the wait? And do you think things will now go smoothly for our boys? :D


	14. Mimban, part III

_Although I did not know it before, I have dreamt of this kiss so many times. I knew it not even a day ago, that I imagined your smile against my mouth, just like this._

The kiss felt like a revelation, a dismantling of Obi-Wan’s known reality, replacing it with a new bolder one. Everything he had ever known to be true of himself and Anakin, of their relationship, was taken apart and assembled anew with the impish shape of Anakin’s lips under Obi-Wan’s, with the pleasing solidness of his form against Obi-Wan’s own, with their hearts beating in identical, rapid cadence.

The perpetual chill, Obi-Wan’s constant companion for so long, had vanished and in its place was a slow, exciting heat igniting his every nerve. The source of it was of course Anakin, burning so marvellously bright; his former Padawan’s body emanated inexplicable warmth, a blaze of life and want spreading unchecked into Obi-Wan. Even more brilliant and intense was his presence in the Force, almost blinding Obi-Wan with a rush of feelings that resembled more of a fever dream than anything a Jedi ought to have: overwhelming desire, the yearning to take and be given mixed with eagerness to please, laced with joyful hope – and all of it finding a desperate answering echo in Obi-Wan. 

He revelled in the enthralling feel of Anakin’s smooth skin under his fingertips, in the sure way Anakin’s hand took hold of his hip, how Anakin’s quiet sigh of pleasure against Obi-Wan’s mouth was now their shared secret. Kissing his friend’s – _his love’s_ – pliant, ardent lips, Obi-Wan could not fathom how he had ever imagined living without it, and yet – 

_This_, Obi-Wan thought, suddenly devastatingly certain. _This will be our ruin_. And still he could not wrench himself away; he could not cut Anakin from his heart. The galaxy could cease to exist, and still Obi-Wan would continue to love and desire Anakin. 

As if in silent answer, Anakin drew Obi-Wan impossibly closer, till there were no empty spaces between them left. The heavy press of the mechanical fingers was a welcome, grounding sensation; it would be sure to leave a bruise. Exited by the idea of Anakin’s want printed on his skin, Obi-Wan continued to zealously explore the taste and feel of Anakin’s mouth, humming appreciatively when his Padawan’s tongue brazenly met his own. Flush against each other, their throbbing arousals touched most maddeningly, even though separated by layers of fabric. 

Obi-Wan curled locks of Anakin’s hair around his finger, and with a gentle yank he drew Anakin’s head backwards so he could mouth slowly along the bared throat and neck, worrying the skin lightly with his teeth. Anakin panted, his hold on Obi-Wan tightening, just this side of painful. He rubbed his straining length shamelessly against Obi-Wan, making a choked sound that went straight to Obi-Wan’s cock. 

They were fast reaching a crescendo; Obi-Wan knew that soon they would be so far down the path there would be no turning back, no stopping the heat curling between them, licking their insides, the pleasure burning hotter and brighter, seeking _more_. 

However much he _wanted_, there were too many unresolved things and unanswered questions between them still. Thousand kisses could not cover the uncertainty of their new union, nor that in their mutual understanding there was still plenty of room for misinterpretation. Whatever happened between them next, whatever road they took – forward into new territory or backwards into old worn tracks – honesty between them would be essential. However much he wanted to keep kissing Anakin, Obi-Wan knew he had to talk to him instead. 

He forced his fingers to let go and reluctantly lifted his mouth from Anakin’s skin. Trying to take a step backwards, Obi-Wan was halted more by Anakin’s small sound of discontent than by his firm hold. 

“_Dearest_,” Obi-Wan murmured, gently kissing the corner of Anakin’s mouth. “We have to talk.” 

It took several heavy beats of a heart, but finally Anakin’s hands withdrew, Obi-Wan immediately missing his touch. In concert, they both stepped back, leaving ample room between them; even had he stretched out his hand, Obi-Wan’s fingers would not have reached Anakin. 

They looked at each other, both suddenly a little abashed. Anakin’s face was flushed, his hair mussed. Obi-Wan wondered what kind of spectacle he himself presented; unlike Anakin, he didn’t have an undertunic to cover the obvious bulge in his trousers. His bare skin felt still heated, and the touch of Anakin’s fingers on his hip lingered, radiating a lovely ache.

“So, uh…that was…yeah, um I…” Obi-Wan’s brave, intelligent, _awkward_ Padawan was the first to break the silence, his cheeks turning even more pink as his eyes darted from Obi-Wan’s face down to his crotch. 

“Yes,” Obi-Wan agreed hoarsely, his throat suddenly too dry, feeling himself blush under Anakin’s bashful yet hungry gaze. He could think of nothing else to say, mind unexpectedly blank of all the carefully thought out reasoning of the previous hours. Obi-Wan thought wryly that his resolve to _not act_ on his feelings hadn’t lasted very long; only half an hour ago Obi-Wan had known exactly what to do, and still had somehow ended up doing the exact opposite. 

“That was…that was good.” Anakin’s words sounded more like a question than a statement. Before Obi-Wan could answer, his former Padawan continued much more definitely, “_Better_ than good.”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan admitted, the simple affirmative conjuring a small grin on Anakin’s face. Obi-Wan hated that his next words unravelled that sweet smile as he was compelled to confess, “But it was not what I intended to do.”

“But it was what you wanted, right?” Anakin kept his eyes firmly on Obi-Wan, although it must have been difficult to expose his naked uncertainty for Obi-Wan to witness. Anakin had always sought to cover in himself anything he considered to be a vulnerability; that he didn’t do so now was perhaps a surer sign than any kiss of the new, higher level of intimacy between them. It was also proof that Obi-Wan was not the only one that felt the surety their earlier heady embrace had brought dissipating: it seemed as soon as there was space between them, and they were no longer touching, familiar doubts were flooding back, gaining ground. 

“Yes.” Obi-Wan was embarrassingly aware that he was starting to sound like a broken recorder, endlessly repeating himself. _He_ had insisted that they talk – he would just have to try to find the right words for his conflicted feelings. “I did want it – I _do_ want it. But I fear it was not prudent nor well thought-out – at the very least, we should have had this conversation _before_ we…did anything.”

Anakin pursed his lips in annoyance. “I don’t see why. You would have just tried to deny you felt anything for me at all.” 

Obi-Wan winced internally – Anakin wasn’t exactly wrong about his claim. But Obi-Wan’s penchant for denial aside, there was one very substantial topic they should have discussed before _anything_ had been allowed to happen between them, one that made Obi-Wan’s insides twinge with shame inducing guilt. “What about Padmé? We should have talked about her.” 

Anakin’s gaze dropped to the ground, but not before Obi-Wan had seen the flash of remembered pain in his eyes. “Padmé and I are done…our marriage is over.” But to Obi-Wan, Anakin did not sound so certain; there was a slight tone of hesitancy that Obi-Wan’s mind couldn’t help but latch onto, raising insidious misgivings that were surely baseless and unfair, but still difficult to completely brush aside.

Perhaps too willing to assuage his own guilt for kissing, for caressing – for loving – a man that had promised himself to another, Obi-Wan did not press for more assurances. He had to believe that Anakin was telling him the truth. 

Honesty in mind, Obi-Wan ploughed on to the next difficult subject, despite knowing it would undoubtedly wound them both. “This thing between us…I can’t see how it will fit in this war, into the lives we lead – we need to be level-headed, resolute to serve those that depend on us, and yet if we are not careful, this could be the incendiary that unmakes everything we hold dear.” It was already hard to stand by when Anakin was in danger; how much more impossible it would be, if they acted on their feelings, if the intense rush of love was a constant, powerful counterpoint to Obi-Wan’s efforts to pragmatically carry out his duty?

Anakin shook his head. “I don’t believe that. The way I feel about you – it makes me _stronger_. Obi-Wan, you make everything, all this druk worth fighting for, you inspire me to try to be better, someone you could – someone you could be proud of.”

The fervent words set Obi-Wan alight; he wanted to say that he was already so proud of Anakin, of all that the young man had accomplished, everything Anakin was – kind and courageous and brilliant and generous and funny – but his Padawan was continuing his confession, the quiet sincerity of his words reflected in the brightness of his gaze: “When you touch me, I feel safe, I feel _alive_, I feel like nothing else matters.” 

Obi-Wan closed his eyes briefly, trying to settle his rebellious heart that was howling for him to take Anakin into his arms again, to print his affirmation into his Padawan’s skin with heated kisses, with the greedy press of his fingers. He wanted it more than he had ever wanted anything, he wanted it with such a violent passion he hadn’t even known could be contained inside a single person, inside _him_, and that was the very root of the matter. Surely the consuming want was an expression of selfish attachment, far from altruistic love. Feeling like nothing else but it mattered was a dangerous mirage. 

“I know – I feel it too – and that’s the problem,” Obi-Wan said softly, aching from the effort to stay away from Anakin, from knowing his words – and he himself – had to be the cause of a bitter disillusionment for his best friend. 

“What does that mean?” Anakin asked earnestly, clearly wondering, _what does that mean for us_? 

“I don’t know,” Obi-Wan forced himself to answer. He was conscious of the fact that Anakin had always needed the security of Obi-Wan’s confidence and conviction, the appearance, however false, of his Master’s omniscience; but in this Obi-Wan could offer nothing but uncertainty, and the harsh realization that Obi-Wan was unmoored and adrift, badly out of his depth. 

However, perhaps he had underestimated his Padawan; the look in Anakin’s eyes arrested Obi-Wan, the glimmer of determination amid a haze of disappointment and wistfulness reaching for the steadfast, resistant hope that stubbornly continued to live in Obi-Wan. 

“Master –” But whatever Anakin had meant to say was left unsaid as Obi-Wan’s comlink peeped, the outside world once again unapologetically intruding into the personal, duty sharply reminding of its all-encompassing presence. 

“Kenobi,” Obi-Wan answered the call quickly, fully aware that if someone was willing to bother him in the middle of the night, the matter had to require his immediate attention. 

“Cody here, sir.” The identity of the caller was no surprise – it sometimes seemed like Obi-Wan’s Commander never slept. “You and General Skywalker are needed in the command tent; there is an urgent transmission from the Jedi Council.” 

“Acknowledged, we’re on our way.” As Obi-Wan shut the comlink, his mind was already going through multiple reasons why the Council would contact them, majority of them consisting of bad news. His Padawan was pulling on his overtunic and Obi-Wan quickly followed suit, glad that he didn’t need to battle his jutting erection into a submission as the serious conversation with Anakin had already effectively wilted it. 

The large command tent was not fully staffed at that time of night. The few troopers left as soon as Obi-Wan and Anakin entered the tent, only Cody and Rex staying put. No words needed to be exchanged; after a sharp nod from Obi-Wan, Cody switched on the heavily secured transmission from Coruscant. The full body image of Mace Windu appeared before them, the bluish hue flickering slightly as the connection settled. No one else from the Council was present, and Obi-Wan could not decide if that was a sign of good or ill tidings. 

“Mace,” Obi-Wan greeted his old friend, suddenly inordinately relieved that Mace was lightyears away and could sense nothing of Obi-Wan’s churning feelings. Still, he wondered if something of what had happened between him and Anakin could be read from his face. What would Mace’s reaction be, if he knew that only moments before Obi-Wan had been feverishly kissing his former Padawan? 

“Obi-Wan – Skywalker.” Mace appeared as calm and collected as ever, the deep tenor of his voice giving nothing away. “The situation in the Seswenna sector has turned critical. The 48th has suffered heavy losses and has had to retreat from Agomar and Adras.”

Obi-Wan sighed; it was ill tidings then. “That is alarming news.” The intersection of the Rimma Trade Route and the Hydian Way was an especially important region of space that the Republic simply couldn’t afford to lose to the Separatists. 

“Yes, it is vital that we retake control of the Seswenna sector as soon as possible. The 501st is being immediately redeployed there.” Although Obi-Wan had expected the orders to separate his and Anakin’s troops for awhile now, Mace’s words were still a direct hit to his solar plexus. 

“But things here are still a mess – Mimban is far from being secure,” Anakin objected impetuously, his expression darkening. 

“I am _well aware_ of the circumstances there, but unfortunately every day our forces are spread thinner and thinner. The 212th has to take care of Mimban alone.” Mace’s dry tone of voice was coloured by frustration; it was clear he too wasn’t any happier about the situation than they were. 

“What about Aayla’s troops? They are closer to Seswenna,” Obi-Wan asked quietly, even though he already knew what the answer would be. 

“They cannot be pulled from the Ryloth system yet; besides –” Mace paused, his mouth tightening imperceptibly with irritation, “– the Chancellor himself has expressed deep concern over Seswenna and _personally_ asked for Skywalker and his troops to handle it.” 

Already resigned to Anakin leaving, Obi-Wan was surprised by the sudden vehement aversion he felt at the mention of the Supreme Chancellor once again acting out his private preferences on the battle field. He sought to bring his dislike under control, as it did nothing to change the outcome, only giving the whole affair a rotten aftertaste. 

“We’ll leave as soon as possible,” Anakin affirmed stiffly, looking meaningfully at his Captain. Rex nodded and slipped out of the tent, Cody fast on his heels. There was plenty to do to get a whole battalion ready to depart, even as there was as much to do to ensure that suddenly halving their forces wouldn’t affect too detrimentally those staying and their current campaign on the planet. 

“Anything from Quinlan?” Obi-Wan asked, Vos’ mission to track down Ventress never far from his mind. 

“No, but that is hardly out of the ordinary.” The corners of Mace’s mouth lifted slightly upwards. 

Obi-Wan silently agreed, although he would have liked to have any news of the Kiffar Jedi. Stuck on Mimban for the unforeseeable future, Obi-Wan could contribute very little to the matter of the holocron. He wrestled the familiar, flaring sense of powerlessness back into embers. It – like so many other things – was out of his hands, at least for the moment. 

Nothing further left to discuss, Mace said his curt goodbyes, leaving Obi-Wan and Anakin amid a suddenly tense silence. With a painful bang, it occurred to Obi-Wan that it was the time for their own farewell. 

“_Kriff_,” Anakin swore with feeling, perfectly expressing Obi-Wan’s thoughts about the situation they found themselves in. Anakin did not want to go; Obi-Wan did not want him to go; and yet he _had to_ go. 

“Anakin…”

“I know, I _know_ –” Anakin said, rapidly stepping up to Obi-Wan, eyes heated with all the things that still remained unsaid between them. His Padawan grinned widely, the bright, most loved smile quivering at the edges. “You better be in one piece, hale and hearty, when we meet again.” 

And before Obi-Wan had the chance to reply, Anakin had already closed the gap between them, had sealed his mouth over Obi-Wan’s, kissing him lovely and deep. Obi-Wan’s mind was wiped blissfully blank – there was only the feel of Anakin’s lips, the taste of him – until it was all suddenly gone – Anakin was gone. 

The several weeks that followed were among the most miserable in Obi-Wan’s life. Exhausted by the unending struggle of their dragging campaign, by the secret fear of something happening to Anakin, Obi-Wan tumbled down to his bedroll late at each night, weary to the bone. He turned and shifted restlessly while chasing elusive sleep, thinking endlessly about Anakin, their kisses, the heady heat between them, the memory of it making him ache to the root of his heart. More often than not, he took himself in hand, imagining the taste of Anakin, the firmness of his body. Skin against skin, lips against lips, heart against heart. 

And when the heat had peaked and abated, the crash back into a cold and empty space jarring and sharp, his thoughts would inevitably start to gnaw torturously at the words he had said to Anakin, agonizing over his phrasing, over what he _hadn’t_ said, wondering where Anakin was and if he was safe and if he was thinking of Obi-Wan too. But however dark the night, the dawn always came, and every time hope with it: _perhaps today I will hear his voice, maybe tonight I’ll see his face_. And with hope, the impossible truth of his love shined all the brighter.

_I scarcely could imagine it to be thus, and yet it is true: today I love you more. I knew it not yesterday, and tomorrow I’ll be surprised anew, for my love for you increases and grows, knows no obstacles nor bounds._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Obi-Wan turns out to be a veritable poet – at least inside his mind :D Too mushy?


	15. Agomar

Bright streaks of sunlight cut through the water like it was clear glass, the brilliant shine momentarily blinding Anakin, forcing him to turn his head to the side. From the shadows, dark green vines and thick moss crept towards the light, their gnarly roots age-old yet thriving. The water was slightly cool against his skin, like refreshing rain. It was quiet inside the heart of the mountain.

At the other side of the small pool, Obi-Wan was resting, his eyes closed. From the round hole in the high ceiling, sunlight fell eagerly on him, turning his hair into a halo of burning red-gold. The curve of his neck, the cut of his strong shoulders, rose above the water like a solid mountain; under the surface lay his powerful body, naked and relaxed, its familiar lines distorted by the hazy mirroring of the pool. 

Feeling Anakin’s eyes on him, Obi-Wan opened his own, the grey-blue of his irises like a heavy, tempestuous sky, drawing Anakin effortlessly in. Under his Master’s undivided attention, Anakin was stripped bare, revealed to his very core, known fully and yet accepted and loved. The whole cave hummed with the truth of their union, the tune settling deep down into Anakin, the words echoing with gentle joy. 

_once we were_  
_now we are_  
_always we’ll be_

He could not _not_ touch; the few metres between them was too wide a distance to endure and so Anakin lunged forward, long legs treading the water clumsily in his haste. Obi-Wan laughed as Anakin barrelled into him, his arms coming to circle Anakin’s waist, steady and sure. Anakin pressed against his Master’s bare chest, the slick water enveloping them turning every touch between them to a smooth, enticing slide of skin against skin. 

“_Dearest_,” Obi-Wan murmured, his fingers combing the wet strands of hair away from Anakin’s face. 

It was almost too much; like this, they were the only beings in the entire universe. 

Anakin dipped his head and kissed his Master’s bearded cheek, following the surprisingly soft trail of hair under the chin, down to the hollow of the throat. While he kept hold of the pool’s ledge with his mechanical hand to better anchor himself against Obi-Wan, his other hand traced the scars and marks on Obi-Wan’s right side, pressing lightly to feel the bones beneath the firm muscle. 

There was an infinite number of things Anakin wanted to say, countless confessions and apologies, endless words of love and adoration and need. And yet he was struck mute, too full of _everything_, and could only hide his face in the crook of Obi-Wan’s neck, settling his palm against Obi-Wan’s heart, the steady thrum of its beat the very lifeline that twined around Anakin’s own heart, keeping the rot away. 

_Let’s stay here forever. Just like this._ Anakin kissed his wish into Obi-Wan’s skin, while his Master ran his fingers lightly through Anakin’s hair, the repeated motion gentle and soothing. _I want nothing else than this. Only this._

The thudding of the heart intensified, growing louder and louder, until the hammering of the heavy artillery filled the cave, echoing across the ancient chamber. The light dimmed. Obi-Wan’s fingers stopped their caress, and although Anakin kept holding Obi-Wan with all his might, they were once again separate, and there was water and air and space between them. 

_I miss you_, Anakin thought, desolate. _Don’t go. Don’t let me go._ But the walls were coming closer, the black shadows pushing their withered limbs into the pool, spreading like ink, covering Obi-Wan with darkness and leaving Anakin alone. It was freezing, and when Anakin looked at the water, no brightness was reflected from its murky surface – only a black shape, ominous and terrible. 

Anakin startled awake, shaking. The cold had burrowed deep into his bones, his aching body rigidly curling around itself as it sought a small measure of warmth, the river stone tightly clutched in the palm of his flesh hand. The enemy artillery was still steadily pounding at the edges of their front lines, more a statement of _kriff you_ than any serious attempt to breach their positions. The tactical droid in charge of the Seps on Agomar had a particularly twisted sense of vindictiveness in its programming. 

Sharp pain shot up his stiff back and arms as Anakin laboriously twisted himself onto his back. The wide night sky spread over him, offering no solace, only telling him that another rotation had passed. That made it the day 47. It had been forty-seven days since he had left Mimban. Forty-seven days since he had last seen Obi-Wan, talked to him, _kissed_ him in reality and not only in dreams. 

Anakin sighed, trying to remember the taste of Obi-Wan’s skin, the feel of his beard under Anakin’s lips. The dream had started so good, conjuring the peace of Ossus, the way Obi-Wan had laughed so brightly and held him, until it had dissolved into the distressing imagery of Anakin’s wrought up mind. At least it hadn’t morphed into one of his new nightmares – there were only so many times he could dream about Obi-Wan and Padmé dying without going mad. 

Shying away from even the mere thought of the horrible dreams that had plagued him since he had left Mimban, Anakin sat up, focusing his attention on the scene around him. The steep ditch he had used as a resting place was just as it had been before exhaustion had finally dragged Anakin into reluctant sleep: wet and muddy, the weight of numerous boots and bodies having crushed the once springy grass into the ground. Clones were lying in tight little groups on either side of him, offering warmth and comfort to each other, but keeping a respectful distance to their General.

The fighting over the Seswenna sector had so far been bloody and vicious, each side trying to desperately claw into any kind of victory, but still Anakin felt that the hardest part of it all was the waiting – lying in the ditches and the forests and the fields, or in a tent if they had managed to set up any, lying alone among his men and waiting, only his thoughts for company. He should have been used to it already, having learnt long ago that war was mostly waiting for something to happen, but when all the strategies and battle plans had been scrutinized many times over, it still left too much time for doubt to slowly start to poison the bright memory of Obi-Wan wanting Anakin, loving him. 

Anakin closed his eyes, willing himself to hear Obi-Wan’s voice, saying _dearest_. It had brought such a thrill, such a glow to his heart; not only the sweetness of the endearment, but the way it had been said, like Anakin was something precious and dearly loved. It didn’t matter how many times Anakin’s treacherous mind reminded him that Obi-Wan hadn’t actually told him that he loved Anakin, hadn’t told him much of anything besides that they couldn’t be together, his Master had said _dearest_, had kissed and caressed him, had grown hard with want for Anakin. 

It should have been enough – it was enough. It was more than Anakin had dared to hope, more than he probably deserved. Obi-Wan _wanted_ him, and everything else, all the unspoken words, could wait. They would have time for all of it and more. _Force, let there be time._

Unbidden, Obi-Wan’s words again echoed in his mind, pricking him just as sharply as the first time he had heard them: _This thing between us…I can’t see how it will fit in this war, into the lives we lead._ Anakin knew that his Master’s apprehension went beyond the troubles that would arise from a clandestine relationship trying to be kept a secret among an active warzone – it all came down to that blasted idea of _attachment_. And although he could have reassured Obi-Wan that Anakin himself had amble experience about both, he was quite certain that wouldn’t have set Obi-Wan’s mind at ease, far from it. Anakin’s secret relationship with Padmé had hardly been a success, and he knew that his Master held a quite different view about the dangers of attachment than Anakin did. 

He couldn’t help but feel the very familiar tug of bitterness towards the unbending, cold Jedi doctrine that continued to make his life miserably difficult. It was the one rule Anakin had no compunctions of breaking, and although Obi-Wan certainly twisted himself into tight knots of guilt and denial because of it, Anakin’s Master was no stranger to attachment either, even if only inside the safety of his own mind. 

Besides, Obi-Wan had said _in this war_, surely meaning that when the war was over things would be different, _they_ could be different. With peace, the enormous pressure of leadership and duty would be lifted from their shoulders, they could take a long sabbatical together, somewhere far away…perhaps they could even leave the Order and explore the galaxy, helping people that needed it without having to heed all the politics and the stifling rules…they would have all the time to be truly together as lovers should.

Of course, the war had to actually end first – something that seemed more and more improbable as the state of the Republic’s numerous campaigns on many fronts slid from bad to worse to catastrophic. The evidence of the worsening situation was evident everywhere around Anakin, in their patched-up equipment, in the requests for aid that went unheeded, in the increasing number of men they lost. The change in the tide of war was also visible in the countenance and spirits of the people. Soldiers and civilians alike were simply tired, exhausted by the endless loss and deprivation. The toll war took was etched into their faces, harsh lines telling the same tale regardless of their position, whether they were a simple trooper or the Chancellor of the Republic. 

Anakin was grateful that Palpatine, despite his numerous responsibilities and overwhelmingly busy schedule, always managed to somehow contact Anakin even when he was on the other side of the galaxy, his friendship and support making Anakin feel less alone. The last time they had talked – a mere week ago – the Chancellor had looked particularly haggard. Although trying to be upbeat for Anakin’s sake, it had quickly become clear that the way the war was progressing was weighing heavily on Palpatine, who felt responsible for the future and safety of the whole Republic. Anakin had tried to not vent his frustrations about the situation in the Seswenna sector too much, even when he knew that the Chancellor always welcomed his honest opinion. Driving the Seps away from the sector was Anakin’s responsibility, one that Palpatine had personally given to him, believing that Anakin above all others would succeed – and Anakin was determined to not let his old mentor down. 

The Chancellor had always been such a good friend to him, even though lately Anakin had felt very awkward talking to him, evading those topics that mattered to him most. Palpatine certainly knew Anakin well enough to recognize that something was amiss, that Anakin himself perhaps was _different_ than before, but despite his gentle prodding, Anakin had kept mum about the changes in his relationships with both Padmé and Obi-Wan. His Master would never have wanted the thing between them to be disclosed to anyone – least of all to the Chancellor of the Republic – and to be honest, Anakin himself wanted to keep it just between them. It was too new, too fragile to be shared with anyone, the reality of the outside world threatening its very existence. That however didn’t prevent him from feeling guilty for not confiding in his old friend, who had so faithfully kept all of Anakin’s secrets for so long. And as for why Anakin hadn’t told the Chancellor about his unravelling marriage, he couldn’t really say, other than he had a peculiar _feeling_ that he should not. Besides, Padmé too was entitled to her privacy. 

However, that resulted in Palpatine subtly telling Anakin of Padmé, slipping in to their conversations a few well-meaning observations about the senator of Naboo, knowing from previous experience that Anakin desperately wanted any news of his wife. The Chancellor had no idea that the mention of Padmé had a somewhat different effect on Anakin than before; it did not make him ache from longing, but from guilt. What had happened between him and Obi-Wan was as clear a sign as any declaration of breakup Anakin could have made to Padmé – it was not even that he had kissed his Master or planned to take Obi-Wan to his bed, but the emotional certainty of what he felt for the other man. He loved Obi-Wan and wanted to be with him. Anakin knew that was something he had to admit to Padmé when they next met, to finish the break she had started. There could be no ambiguity between them any longer. 

It was also important that Padmé knew, that although Anakin had let go of her, had acknowledged that the passionate affair between them was over, he would always still care for her and love her. Nothing would change the fact that she had been his first love, his first everything, helping him through hardships that would have surely torn him apart if he had faced them alone. Anakin wanted to thank her, wanted to ask her to be his friend. Regardless of her reaction, Anakin would continue to protect her, not letting any harm come to her – even when he was lightyears away from them, he would find a way to protect the people he loved. 

The Chancellor had let slip his worry for Padmé; he had assured Anakin that it more than likely was nothing, but the senator looked peaked and stressed, not quite herself. It was probably only the pressures of war affecting Padmé, but still Anakin couldn’t help the awful fear that was stalking his thoughts, whispering that something was wrong…What if she was seriously ill? What if something horrible had happened to her? What if Anakin’s nightmares were once again warnings of the future? 

The suffocating terror dragged forth the image of Padmé, laying somewhere white, in so much pain and so afraid. She was suffering, _dying_, and Anakin was not there – even as he was not there when Obi-Wan fell, plummeting uncontrollably down from somewhere very far up, surrounded by enemies on all sides, falling towards his death…

Anakin sprang to his feet, desperately trying to banish the nightmarish visions, trying to convince himself they would not become true. He missed Obi-Wan and worried about him, his subconscious mind thus conjuring a torturous image out of his fears. The same with Padmé, but the driving force being his guilt, his illogical thought that he had somehow betrayed her by falling in love with Obi-Wan. Anakin knew how his fear operated, how insidiously it tried to take hold of him – the dreams would not come true! He would _not let them_. 

Honing his focus on to the present moment, Anakin climbed up from the ditch, stumbling through the row of mostly inoperative walkers that stood guard over the resting men. Passing the sentries, he walked a few meters further from the last lookout, ignoring the warnings of his troopers. If the Seps truly thought they could kill him, they were welcome to try. However, the trampled field, full of deep craters, was empty. There was no movement on the other side of it; it seemed that the clankers too were engaging in some downtime. Only the enemy batteries still thudded in the distance, spewing fire ineffectively towards their left flank. 

Anakin curled his lip in contempt. _Enough of this._ He would find a way to break the stalemate, to utterly decimate the Sep forces. He didn’t have any more time to play around. 

Searching for Rex, Anakin strode through their hastily assembled encampment, making note of every soldier that was still standing, every equipment that was still working. They would need everything but the kitchen sink to break through the Separatist lines. 

The aid station was almost full, and Anakin hesitated on the edge of the eerily silent space. His men lay there broken and bleeding, and yet so quiet. Behind the tent, out of sight, but still close enough to be practical, was a large canopy: the place where they brought the bodies. Rows of clones, their gear removed, sometimes even their armour, waiting for burial. Anakin found Rex there, standing beside the latest soldier of the ghostly company. 

Their life-force snuffed, bodies cold and in most cases mangled, Anakin could no longer distinguish the clones from one another; death had stripped them of their hard-won identity, a final insult to a life started in a cloning tank. Only the individual markings on their armour revealed some of their identities, like the letter _H_ on Thom’s pauldron. The last of the Havoc squadron had joined his brothers. 

“He died an hour ago,” Rex said, not lifting his eyes from the row of dead. 

Anakin put his hand on Rex’s shoulder, hoping that the solid weight of it would convey all he could not say. _I’m sorry, my friend. I’m sorry that I have to continue to ask more from you._

Rex turned to look at Anakin, his eyes steely. “What’s the plan then?” 

“The same as always,” Anakin answered, lips pulling into a mirthless smile, “to give them hell.” 

Another victory, another defeat, another tent full of dying and another row of bodies – it had to stop. It couldn’t go on like that any longer. Anakin would not let it. His men – Rex, Kix and all those that were still left, Obi-Wan and Anakin himself – they deserved peace. 

_Enough._ He curled his shaking hands into fists, the fiery resolution setting his soul on fire. _We’ve all had enough – I have had enough._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, not much action in this chapter, but it was essential to establish Anakin’s thoughts. Hopefully our boy’s state of mind seems believable.


	16. Vigilance

The pilot landed the damaged gunship with admirable ease; the light thud and shudder of the familiar contact with the flight deck was like a permission for Anakin to start to breathe freely again. A collective sigh of relief rang in the Force, as the weary and battered clones, tightly pressed against each other, finally let go of their long-drawn-out state of high alertness. Engines shutting down, the troop compartment was suddenly plunged into darkness, the pungent smell of blood and refuse sharp in the cramped space, before the side doors slid open, revealing the controlled chaos of a Star Destroyer’s busy ventral hangar bay. 

First, the off-key concert of screaming machines felt overwhelming after the relative silence of the gunship, where the sputtering engines hadn’t managed to mask the low murmur of the living or the groans of the dying. Just for a moment, Anakin selfishly let all the noise settle over him like a heavy blanket and cover the shouted words around him; then he decisively tuned the background noise out and concentrated on his men, echoing their calls for medics and stretchers, helping the wounded out of the gunship.

The LAAT/i was empty under a minute: it seemed that the _Vigilance’s_ whole medical personnel had been waiting for the 501st, and now they swarmed around the gunships, the more badly wounded already half-way to the medbay. It left Anakin with very little to do, but to look around and start counting. He watched as the last gunship landed with a screech and an impressive but uncustomary slide, coming to a halt just inches from another ship. It was the twenty-ninth gunship in the hangar; Anakin could only hope that the rest had landed safely on the other cruisers. 

“_Sir_.” A medic was standing in front of Anakin, lips pursed in obvious discontent – surely a default expression for all medics. Now that the patients in critical condition had already been taken away, the attention fell on the walking wounded, or in Anakin’s case, on his visible scrapes and bruises. 

“I’m fine,” Anakin said, gesturing randomly around. “Check on someone else.” He would have to contact the rest of the fleet, find out how many of his men had made it back, make sure they all got the care they needed, then take the tally of men and equipment, see how many were ready to – 

“General, I _must_ insist –”

“It’s all right Lance, I’ll make sure he gets a check-up.” 

Blood rushing in his ears, heart thudding more quickly, more _painfully_, Anakin twirled around, meeting Obi-Wan’s small smile and warm eyes with all the grace and poise of someone, who had been just suddenly electrocuted. How could he have missed his Master’s presence? 

Anakin hardly noticed the medic leave, his gaze firmly on Obi-Wan, hungrily cataloguing his Master’s familiar features: the gentle twist of lips, the glimmer of worry in the grey-blue eyes, the neatly cut beard, the clean tunic and tabard. Aside from the wrinkled brow and the tired lines around his mouth – which his Master no doubt blamed on both the war _and_ Anakin – Obi-Wan seemed to be fine. The Force told Anakin the same, the reassurance softly enveloping their bond, feeling like the warmth of his Master’s embrace. 

It was like the last tight string keeping Anakin upright was abruptly cut, and he sagged, eyes stinging, whole body trembling with a relief so immense he feared he would collapse to his knees. But Obi-Wan was quicker than Anakin’s treacherous feet; his Master’s hand gripped his shoulder, the hold solid and strong, keeping Anakin standing. 

Cheeks flushing with mortification, Anakin tried to cover his weakness with a grin of forced levity. “Good of you to give us a ride.” 

“Well, as we were already in the neighbourhood, I thought we might as well take in some hitch-hikers,” Obi-Wan said, the solemn look in his eyes belying the lightness of his tone. 

Before Anakin could come up with a suitable quip, Obi-Wan was already guiding him purposefully out of the hangar. “Come now, I promised a visit to the medbay.” 

Obi-Wan’s hand steering him firmly along, Anakin was too tired to do anything but plod through the corridors, acutely aware that he must have looked utterly pathetic to every passing officer and trooper. Avoiding their eyes, Anakin focused on the grey floor before him, wishing for a quiet, empty room – a room where he could _touch_ Obi-Wan and hold him – 

Without warning he was yanked to a stop, and before his numb brain had even begun to process what was happening, Anakin found himself inside a small enclosed space. The utter ridiculousness of it was enough to make him burst into a hacking laugh. 

“_A supply closet_? Really, Master?” 

Obi-Wan’s palms cupped his cheeks, and Anakin’s laughter died off. All of a sudden something hard was lodged in his throat, making it hard to swallow. His Master’s hands were warm and dry against Anakin’s clammy skin. It was quiet and snug and dim, the automatic light having lit up only partially. Finally, they were together again. After 62 days. 

“_Anakin_,” Obi-Wan spoke in a soft voice, his thumb wiping something wet from under Anakin’s eye. He did not ask if Anakin was alright. 

“_Master_,” Anakin croaked, pitching forward. He wanted to kiss Obi-Wan long and deep, he wanted to be kissed in return, wanted that spark between them to flare up, engulf him in flames, burning everything else away, until there was nothing but them alone and the heat – 

Somehow, he ended up awkwardly smashed against Obi-Wan, his mouth pressed just below his Master’s ear, his hands grasping Obi-Wan’s tunic. He could not quite make himself move; certainly not after Obi-Wan’s arms wrapped around him, one of his hands rubbing small circles along Anakin’s spine. 

In the utter safety of that hold, it all stung so painfully again – all that sacrifice and blood they had spilt over Agomar, over Adras, over the whole kriffing system, only to be ordered to retreat, to give up, and all of it had been for nothing, his men had died _for nothing_ – 

“I know,” Obi-Wan said, and Anakin could not tell if he had spoken those bitter, desperate words aloud, or if his Master had picked his thoughts through their bond, but he felt that Obi-Wan _did_ understand. His Master had finally won the decisive battle on Mimban by the skin of his teeth, but it too could have so easily gone differently. And victory or not, it was all –

“It was for nothing,” Anakin mumbled, breath hitching. 

He felt a light kiss against his cheekbone, the soft press of Obi-Wan’s lips like a memory, there and then gone. His Master’s words, low and consoling: “We are going home.”

_I am home_, Anakin thought, the fierce longing that had plagued him for months finally abating in Obi-Wan’s all-encompassing embrace. 

\--

Somehow, Anakin managed to persuade Obi-Wan to forgo the trip to the medbay. It might have been his quiet, heart-rending words – _I am not hurt. I promise I’m not. I can’t go to the sickbay, I can’t_ – or the beseeching look in his bleary eyes; either way, after confirming through the Force that Anakin was not physically hurt, Obi-Wan found himself leading his former Padawan as discreetly as possible to Anakin’s cabin, knowing his friend was embarrassed to be seen in such a state. 

That state, although not physically dangerous, was still exceedingly alarming to Obi-Wan. Anakin was clearly utterly tired, not just from prolonged exhaustion, but from the corrosive defeat of his latest campaign that even at its very end had continued to take a heavy toll. The Separatists had not let the 501st retreat without trying to cause a maximum amount of destruction, not relenting in their hounding malice even when half the Open Circle fleet had emerged from the hyperspace to safeguard the last stretch of the troop withdrawal.

With a quiet sigh of relief, Obi-Wan pushed Anakin gently inside the cabin, closing the door behind them, shutting the rest of the galaxy out – at least for the moment. When he turned around, he found Anakin standing in the middle of the small space, staring vacantly into distance. 

“Anakin.” 

His former Padawan blinked, just for a moment looking confused and lost, as if emerging from sleep in a strange place. “Yeah?” 

“First, a shower. Then some sustenance, then sleep,” Obi-Wan listed, gesturing towards the cabin’s tiny refresher. 

“Are you joining me?” Anakin managed to twist his face into a ridiculous leer; it was the glimmer of interest and _hope_ in his eyes that made Obi-Wan’s heart do an extra jump. 

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow pointedly, hoping it sufficiently conveyed his incredulity. Anakin huffed, but his mouth settled into a soft, genuine smile. “What if I fall down and hit my head? I might need someone to hold me up.” 

A pleasant warmth, like the glow of embers, was spreading inside Obi-Wan; he was glad that Anakin had no idea what that smile did to him, how hard it made for Obi-Wan to say _no_. “As the sonic is just _barely_ big enough for you, I doubt there is even enough room for you to fall, let alone to accommodate another person,” he answered with his usual wry tone, hoping it concealed just how much he was tempted to acquiesce. 

“We could always try – it’ll be like a scientific experiment,” Anakin teased, but however enthused he undoubtedly was about the idea, his tiredness shone through every word. 

“Off you go.” Obi-Wan shooed Anakin towards the narrow door at the back of the room, relieved that the tried and true look of _no-nonsense-now-padawan_ still worked. 

However, Anakin paused on the threshold of the refresher, hesitating. “I should contact the other cruisers, find out how many gunships landed, how many men…”

Obi-Wan shook his head. “I’ll do that. I have to talk to Admiral Block anyway.” 

Anakin did not protest against Obi-Wan taking over his responsibilities for the 501st, and that was the surest sign yet of his physical and mental fatigue. Shoulders slumped, Obi-Wan’s Padawan disappeared into the refresher, leaving him standing helplessly in the middle of the cabin, aching from the hurt Anakin felt over his troops. But the inaction lasted only for a moment – Obi-Wan had work to do. 

Keeping one ear on the sounds coming from the refresher, Obi-Wan first contacted Rex, knowing that the Captain probably had already gleaned an overall view of his battalion’s losses. The news were grim, but expected: six gunships, carrying 143 men, had been lost in the evacuation. From those ships that had made it, eleven wounded had died in transit and further three in the medbay. Twelve were in critical condition, and many more needed medical care. The losses of the single day were steep, even when not taking into account all the men that had been lost during the previous days and weeks in the fighting over the Seswenna sector…

The 212th had hardly fared any better on Mimban – _Force_, they _all_ needed badly rest away from the frontlines. Obi-Wan was grateful that at last they had been recalled back to Coruscant, if only for a short time. _Vigilance_ and the other ships needed refitting, although Obi-Wan doubted their battalions would be given as much time to recuperate and regroup as the fleet. 

After a quick call to Admiral Block – the situation was under control, the fleet already on the way home – Obi-Wan set to make everything ready for Anakin to go to sleep as soon as possible. He had no idea where Anakin’s worn rucksack was, most likely forgotten somewhere on Agomar, but at least some of his former Padawan’s things had been left behind in his unofficial quarters on Obi-Wan’s flagship. Ever since the _Resolute_ had been drydocked, its extensive repairs estimated to take well over a year, Anakin had unceremoniously claimed a cabin abroad the _Vigilance_, although technically the _Pioneer_ was supposed to be his new flagship for the time being. 

Miracle of miracles, Obi-Wan found a clean undertunic and sleep pants in a drawer, and dropped them hastily on the toilet seat, while Anakin was still in the sonic stall. Luckily the bed had been made, its sheets looking freshly laundered, no doubt thanks to a scrupulous cleaning droid. He had just managed to place a glass of water and a ration bar – meagre offerings, but all he had short of making a trip to the mess– on the table, when Anakin emerged from the fresher. He looked unbearably young in his sleep clothes, hair tousled and red rimmed eyes squinting with drowsiness. 

Obi-Wan gestured at the table, and his uncommonly docile former apprentice gulped the water and food down without a word, confirming Obi-Wan’s suspicion that it must have been several hours since Anakin had last eaten. The ration bar demolished, Anakin shuffled to the bed, sinking heavily on top of the mattress. Obi-Wan waited for him to ask about his call to Rex, but no questions came; with a painful start he realized that Anakin had undoubtedly been listening through the door. He already knew the bloody tally. 

“Anakin –” Obi-Wan started to say, not really knowing what he could say to make the situation even remotely better, and so perhaps it was a good thing that Anakin interrupted him by snagging a hold of his sleeve and tugging Obi-Wan towards himself. 

“You are staying, right?” 

“I –” 

“I _need_ to – I want to kiss you.” Anakin was staring at Obi-Wan imploringly, eyes burning. His desperate need was taking over their bond, smothering all other emotions. Frowning, Obi-Wan placed his hand on Anakin’s forehead, but was met with cool skin; there was no sign of fever. 

“Anakin – this is not the right place, nor the moment,” he said gently. Although used to it, it still stung to be the reason why Anakin’s face crumbled in disappointment. “You are exhausted and I am – I am tired too. Soon, we are home, and after some rest we’ll think more clearly – about everything.” 

“I know you think it’s _right_ or some other druk to give me time to change my mind – but I am not going to. Really, it’s kind of insulting to think I will change my mind the second I see Padmé again,” Anakin huffed, annoyed. Bone-tired, he had even less filter between brain and mouth than usual. It was somewhat disconcerting how Anakin sometimes managed to perfectly hit the nail on the head with his analysis on Obi-Wan’s motives. However, there was more to Obi-Wan’s hesitation than just the fact that Anakin would need to sort things out with Padmé – more than the thought that perhaps he _would_ change his mind –, there was also the fact that Anakin was currently in a far too vulnerable mood to make sound decisions. Obi-Wan didn’t want either of them to do anything they would regret later. 

“Alright Master,” Anakin mumbled, still stubbornly keeping a tight hold on Obi-Wan’s sleeve. “If you want to wait, then I will wait. But I am _not_… not going to…chan- change my mind.” The seriousness of his words was perhaps a little marred by the way his speech slurred as he fast approached sleep. “And…and I want a kiss.”

Relenting, Obi-Wan bent down and pecked him quickly on the lips. “Now rest.” But for once, the order was not necessary, for Anakin had already fallen asleep. 

Freed from his Padawan’s tight grip on his tunic, Obi-Wan settled carefully next to Anakin, leaning against the headboard. He could read Master Nu’s latest list of Ossus’ archaeological findings just as well there than in his own quarters. Datapad in one hand, his other smoothing Anakin’s wild hair, Obi-Wan hoped for a quiet, uninterrupted night. 

\--

From the open doorway, the too-bright light and the dry heat snaked inside, suffocating him. Anakin’s hands, trying to fix the loose wiring, were clumsy, scrubbed raw from sand. He was hollow, so hollow from being so full of grief and hate – 

Padmé was standing behind him, saying gently: “Sometimes there are things no one can fix. You are not all-powerful.” 

“I should be – someday I _will be_,” Anakin vowed, promising to himself that he would never again let the people he loved die. His insides twisted bitterly, something rotten on his tongue. “It’s all Obi-Wan’s fault! He’s jealous! He is holding me back!” But even through the haze of his anger, Anakin knew now that his words were a lie. He loved Obi-Wan, and his Master loved him. 

“What’s wrong Ani?” Padmé asked cautiously, like she hadn’t already had this conversation with him long ago. 

Eyes burning with tears, Anakin turned to face her, confessing: “They’re dead. I killed them. I _will_ kill them all – I will kill _you_.” He clenched his fist, tight, and Padmé cried out. Somewhere outside, a small child was crying. “I hate them! I hate you! I hate Obi-Wan!” 

Anakin slumped against the console, slowly dropping to the floor. His legs could not carry his weight anymore. “I am a Jedi, _I am_ a Jedi,” he sobbed, knowing with utter certainty that was not true.

There were no Jedi. The Great Hall was a tomb. The Holocron Vault was empty. Padmé was dead. _Obi-Wan_ was dead. And Anakin was no more. 

He flinched awake with his Master’s name on his lips, cheeks damp with tears. Eyes prickling, Anakin searched for Obi-Wan, only to be once again disappointed. Obi-Wan had not spent his nights in Anakin’s cabin since the start of their journey back home, too mindful of how it would appear to others, or perhaps just trying to hold onto his resolution to _wait_, prudently concluding that Anakin, although he had promised, could not do the same after all, not when he saw dreams like that – 

_Just a nightmare_, Anakin told himself. _Just a warped memory._

Only then he realized that next to his bunk, his comlink was peeping and peeping, persistent. He fumbled it open, croaking his name with a parched throat.

“Anakin!” Obi-Wan sounded troubled, his tone instantly putting Anakin on alert. “It’s Coruscant. Grievous has attacked the capital.”

For a moment, his heart skipped a beat and his ears were filled with white noise, his shock tilting the whole cabin sideways, until he wrestled his body under control, hastily asking, “What about the Chancellor?” _What about Padmé?_

“Shaak Ti has been sent to protect him, but Master Windu has lost contact with her.” Obi-Wan paused, his voice then softening, guessing – or probably _feeling_ – Anakin’s distress. “Not to worry, our fleet can be there within the hour.” 

Anakin threw on his clothes hurriedly, thanking the Force that they had been so close to Coruscant already. If something happened to Chancellor Palpatine, to Padmé – he grabbed his lightsaber in a crushing grip and dashed out of his cabin, ready for battle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...yay (?), our boys are once more together - or at least in the same place :) As you no doubt noticed, some of the dialogue in this chapter was taken from AOTC and CW s7e9.


	17. Coruscant, part I

_I can’t believe we actually pulled that off._

If one could ever describe a Jedi to be giddy, then Obi-Wan most certainly was: giddy with relief, good cheer and hopefulness. Against all odds, he and Anakin had managed to execute the nearly impossible mission with both of their lives _and_ the Chancellor’s intact. And not only that – the war seemed to have turned on its head in a single swoop, the desolate situation of the GAR suddenly looking a lot better. In a pivotal moment in the Clone Wars, the Separatists had taken a huge gamble and lost, while the Republic had prevailed.

None of it would have been possible without Anakin. 

Obi-Wan looked at his former Padawan, letting a small smile take over his carefully neutral expression. Anakin sat across from him, politely listening to Palpatine’s chatter. Although outwardly calm, the Chancellor was obviously still shaken by his kidnapping and all that had happened aboard the _Invisible Hand_, engaging Anakin in mundane chit-chat to cover his anxiety. Obi-Wan was content to stay out of the conversation, happily enjoying the gloriously smooth shuttlebus ride after the dramatic crash-landing of Grievous’ dreadnought. It had been another successful landing, made possible only by Anakin’s daring and skill as a pilot. 

Eyes briefly catching Anakin’s, Obi-Wan’s smile widened as Anakin quickly turned his gaze back to the Chancellor, a hardly noticeable blush on his cheeks. Through their bond, Anakin felt sheepish, perhaps a little ill at ease – Obi-Wan hoped the majority of it was because of the verbal praise Palpatine continued to heap upon the young hero, and not because of the silent sense of glowing pride he surely felt coming unfettered from his former Master. 

There had been many instances, when Obi-Wan had been proud of his apprentice; small, quiet moments of accomplishments, difficult and arduous tasks done well, brilliant acts of courage and intuition, harsh lessons learnt and hard missions overcome. He had told himself it was perfectly natural to be proud of his Padawan, when the boy’s actions merited it, but had made sure to dispense his praise to Anakin with moderation. Now however, that feeling was threatening to overwhelm him. Anakin’s actions on the _Invisible Hand_ had been extraordinary, but certainly no less than Obi-Wan had expected from him. Perhaps his heart now beat so fiercely with pride, because he let it be fuelled with the love he could not acknowledge or express before. 

While Obi-Wan himself had been unconscious, unable to help his Padawan even less than he had on Geonosis, Anakin had battled Dooku and won. He had single-handedly done something that all the forces of the Republic had tried and failed to do for the last three years. The leader of the Confederacy was dead, and the war was suddenly a lot closer to an end. True, Grievous had managed to once again scamper away, but even his escape couldn’t dampen Obi-Wan’s mood. The cyborg’s capture or death seemed now a foregone conclusion. 

None of it would have been possible without Anakin, who, it turned out, was quite good at making impossible things turn out possible. One of those things being making Obi-Wan so head over heels in love, he was seriously considering kissing Anakin long and deep in victory the moment they were somewhere a little bit more private – _anywhere_ really that was away from the Chancellor’s sharp-eyed gaze. 

Perhaps he would soon get his wish; the shuttlebus was approaching one of the landing platforms of the Senate Office Building. Hopefully they would not be mired in the trifling politics for long, but could finally go to the Temple – to home. To his consternation, as they got closer, Obi-Wan could see the Chancellor’s usual entourage and a row of politicians waiting for them, Bail and Mace among them. Padmé did not seem to be present, but Threepio’s golden plating was impossible to miss. Surely the protocol droid was there on Padmé’s bidding, bearing a message to Anakin. 

Anakin’s and Padmé’s reunion had always been imminent upon their arrival to Coruscant. It was the thought of what came after it that made Obi-Wan’s insides ache painfully; either Anakin would come back the next day to tell him that he and Padmé had made up, or he would come back long before that…to be with Obi-Wan. It was Anakin’s choice. 

When the shuttlebus landed, Palpatine was the first to disembark, his sycophants quickly surrounding him with dramatic swirls of their expensive cloaks and robes. Next, Anakin stepped to the ground, only then realizing that Obi-Wan did not intent to follow. In the distance, Threepio was already tottering towards Anakin. 

“Are you coming, Master?”

“Oh no, I’m not brave enough for politics. I have to report to the Council. Besides, someone needs to be the poster boy.” Obi-Wan leant casually on the shuttlebus’ doorway. It was not hard to adopt an upbeat tone; after all he _was_ in a good mood, nothing being able to dim the relief he felt at the nearing of the war’s end. 

Anakin’s lips twitched as he took on – badly – the mantle of fake-outrage. “Hold on, this whole operation was _your_ idea.”

“Let us not forget Anakin, that _you_ rescued _me_ from the buzz-droids. And you killed Count Dooku, _and_ you rescued the Chancellor, carrying me unconscious on your back.”

“All because of your training,” Anakin claimed graciously, but there was a familiar glimmer of impishness in his eyes. 

Obi-Wan smiled widely. “Anakin, let’s be fair, today you were the hero, and you deserve your glorious day with the politicians.” The words were mocking, but behind them was the genuine pride. His Padawan had done well and deserved all the accolades he would no doubt get from the people on the platform. 

Anakin heard the unspoken praise too, but he answered in kind, the familiar banter a well-used method of _caring_ between them. “Alright, but you owe me one, and not for saving your skin for the tenth time.”

“Ninth time – that business on Cato Neimoidia does not count,” Obi-Wan reminded him pertinently. “I’ll see you at the briefing.” _At the latest._

As the shuttlebus rose from the platform, Obi-Wan watched as the people below slowly walked inside the Senate Office Building, Anakin keeping the rear, Threepio right behind him. 

\--

There was no time to think – as soon as Obi-Wan had bailed out and left Anakin to deal with the politicians, Threepio was there, anxiously telling him that Padmé wanted to meet him, that it was very important, herding him towards a speeder – 

There was no time to think just _how_ in the galaxy he was going to tell his Master what had happened with Dooku; that Anakin had executed an unarmed man, cut off his head. He felt ill just thinking about it – he had known immediately after he had done it, that it had been wrong, that Obi-Wan would be so disappointed, that it was not the action of a Jedi. But Anakin had just wanted the war to be finally over, and certainly Dooku would have tried to wriggle his way back to freedom by any means; he had been too dangerous to be left alive. The Chancellor had agreed with him. And Anakin – he had been angry. 

During the whole shuttlebus ride, Obi-Wan’s pride in Anakin had felt like the worst possible accusation, pricking at him incessantly. It was all so maddening: he needed time to think how he was going to tell his Master, and he needed time to plan how he was going to tell Padmé how he felt about Obi-Wan, but there was _no_ time, for the speeder was fast approaching the Senate Apartment Complex. 

Padmé was waiting for him on the open veranda. As always, she was beautiful, dressed in a light blue gown, wavy hair tumbling down her back. When she saw him, a lovely smile lit up her face. Despite everything, Anakin’s heart jumped from joy, from the memory of their love. He was happy to see her again. 

“Ani, I’m so glad you are back safe.” 

Before, Anakin would not have hesitated to take her into his arms; now he stood awkwardly in front of her, arms hanging empty at his sides. Padmé did not make any move towards him. For a moment, they were as strangers. How he would have moved past that intolerable feeling, he would never know, for suddenly there was _something_ – 

Mind in turmoil, it had taken Anakin that long to notice, to _feel_, that in the Force were two faint pulses of life, two distinct heartbeats, _inside_ of her. 

“You are – how?” He stuttered, completely floored. The freely flowing dress concealed her stomach, but now that he was really looking, Anakin could see the subtle outline of her round belly. 

“That night before you left,” Padmé explained with a little laugh. She looked so happy, but then her face was marred by a frown, her worry becoming evident. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t tell you before, but the risk was just too great. Only Sabé, Ellé and Moteé know.” 

“This is…I don’t know what to say.” Anakin had never thought about being a father – had never thought he could be. Suddenly it hit his consciousness with the weight of a dreadnought: it didn’t matter what he thought, he _would be_ a father. To twins. _Force_. It was one more thing he had no idea how to break to Obi-Wan. 

“Are you angry?” Padmé asked carefully, observing every twitch of Anakin’s expression like he was her toughest political opponent.

“No!” Anakin was quick to deny. The anxiousness in her eyes cut him to the bone. He needed to be a better man, not just for himself and for Obi-Wan, but for her too – and for _their children_. “I never thought – I’m happy, truly. And confused and worried –” All of a sudden, a terrible idea took hold of him, the images of his nightmare so clear. “But are you alright? Is everything fine with you and the babies?” 

“Yes, we are fine,” Padmé reassured him gently, her words only partly managing to placate the insidious fear living inside of him. His nightmares about Padmé made more sense now, the way she had been in pain, the sounds of a crying child. 

“You are sure?”

“Yes, Anakin.” Padmé was looking at him with fondness, but behind her soft expression was the familiar core of steel. Anakin knew she would do everything in her power to take care of her children.

All of a sudden it was the easiest thing in the world to step up to Padmé, to carefully envelop her in a gentle embrace, Anakin all too mindful of not pressing her too tightly to him. Padmé let him, her forehead coming to rest on Anakin’s shoulder. He could feel the press of her round belly against him, and marvelled at the lives they had created. It was still difficult to fully understand: he was going to be a father. Hugging Padmé, he was also hugging his children, their presence already so distinct, so bright in the Force. 

The moment lasted long enough that Anakin felt a little bang of regret for all that could have been; for the proper family they could have made together. But life was never that simple, and soon Padmé was pulling away from his hold and saying, “It’s a relief you were finally able to come to Coruscant – the babies are going to be born in a few weeks, and before that, I plan to go to Naboo, to the Lake Country. I want to give birth there, and I am going to probably stay there for a while, it’s a good place to be.” 

The plan made sense, since the remote area of Naboo’s Lake Country was an ideal place to have a child – _Force_, children in _plural_– in secret, and no one would much wonder if the Senator of Naboo took a little vacation on her home planet. However, Anakin couldn’t help but notice that she hadn’t yet revealed how _he_ fit in all of her plans. “What about your work? Will you come back to the Senate?” _What about me?_

“I doubt the Queen will let me continue to serve in the Senate, especially when – if it comes out that you are the father.” Padmé looked at Anakin sharply, her face suddenly impassive. “Do you want it to come out? If it does, the Council will surely expel you from the Order.” 

Anakin swallowed painfully, a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He had a duty and a commitment to the Republic and to the Jedi Order, and most importantly to Obi-Wan, but so he also had to Padmé and their children. He wanted to do right by all of them, but that seemed impossible as the different obligations and vows were so at odds. What should he do? What _could_ he do? 

“I want…I want to be a part of my children’s lives, of course I do. And I don’t want to hide the fact that I’m their father, I’m not ashamed of that,” Anakin started to speak, the words tumbling out of him unrehearsed and unplanned, surprising himself too. It was not until that moment he decided what to do. “I will always be there for you, as much as I can. But – I’m sorry it can’t be yet. I have to see this war through, and until it ends, I have to stay a Jedi.” He could not leave Obi-Wan to fight the war alone, could not leave his men – it was painful to think he would probably miss the birth of his children, their first weeks, maybe months, but by finishing the war he would be fighting for their future too. 

Padmé’s eyes shined, the small twist of her lips wistful. “I understand. I had a feeling that would be your decision.” 

“It will not be for long,” Anakin hurried to convince her. “The war will be over soon, I know it. After that we can figure things out, some way for me to be there for the babies.” With any luck and Force willing, Obi-Wan would be there too, _with_ Anakin, still loving him despite everything. 

“Anakin,” Padmé started hesitantly. “I want you to be a father to our children, they and you deserve that. But us – our relationship –”

“I understand,” Anakin interrupted, relieved that they seemed to be on the same page concerning their marriage. 

“You do?” She sounded sceptical, and Anakin couldn’t blame her. There was a time not so long ago, when he would have never believed he would ever say what he was going to say now. 

“You were right about us, of our relationship being…something it should not have become.” Anakin had thought he had already come to terms with their marriage dissolving, but it still hurt to talk about it. “And I know that is mainly my fault. I’m sorry. I thought about things – _us_ – a lot and…” Anakin forced a bright grin on his face, saying, “I think we should be the best of friends.” 

“That’s…” A small smile spread across Padmé’s face, transforming her cautious expression to one of wonder. “That sounds perfect.” Anakin was once again reminded how deep his love for her still was, how he owed her so much, most importantly the truth. 

“And I have – I have to tell you that I –” The right words got stuck on his throat, so finally Anakin just blurted out, “I love Obi-Wan. I mean…I am _in love_ with Obi-Wan.” 

Padmé looked at him in pure astonishment. It seemed that Anakin had managed to accomplish the rarest of feats: rendering her speechless. Nervousness was fast gaining ground, making Anakin’s stomach swirl nauseatingly, but still, it felt good to finally having told someone. With a sudden shock, he realized he hadn’t actually told even Obi-Wan that yet – not in those words at least. Anakin resolved to tell him soon; he would tell his Master _everything_ soon. 

“And I think…I think he loves me back.”

Somehow it was that addition, said hesitantly, almost as an afterthought, that broke Padmé’s silent wonderment. The look in her eyes was a mix of gentleness and exasperation. “Of course he does.”

\--

It was late. 

Obi-Wan rose from the sofa and poured the dregs of his cold tea down the kitchen sink. His eyes felt gritty for staring at his datapad for so long. He should go to sleep; it had been a long day and tomorrow would be as well, scheduled full with briefings and drawing of battle plans, everyone determined to track Grievous down. 

He should go to sleep – or he could make another cup of tea, read another report. Obi-Wan’s hand hovered over the kettle, undecided. There was no fooling himself; he wanted to wait for Anakin, he wanted to reach out through their bond and seek out his Padawan’s presence. The former he had done all evening while ostensibly immersing himself in the paperwork, the latter he had been too much of a coward to even try. 

It was late. Perhaps it was time to acknowledge that Anakin would not come – that he had something important that kept him from the Temple – _someone_ important. 

Unbalanced by the indecision and restlessness, by the uncommon chaos of his mind, Obi-Wan was utterly taken aback when the main door swished open and Anakin strode unceremoniously inside, as usual forgoing knocking and nonchalantly using Obi-Wan’s code to enter his Master’s quarters. 

“You came back.” Obi-Wan could not cover the surprise in his voice, eyes taking in Anakin’s appearance – his clothes still a little singed and rumpled from the earlier battle, hair in disarray and eyes tired, and still, _always_, so devastatingly handsome –, as his other senses felt carefully along their bond, encountering a swirl of hope, anxiety and anticipation.

“Of course,” Anakin said, sounding slightly amused. However, he stopped short of the living area, standing almost uneasily in front of the now closed door. 

“Did you have a good evening?” Obi-Wan asked casually, even as his heart thudded painfully. He exited the open kitchen, gesturing at Anakin to take a seat on the sofa. His former Padawan ignored him, staying where he was as if he was still unsure of his welcome. 

Anakin’s solemn gaze found Obi-Wan’s, sincere and unapologetic. “Yeah…I went to see Padmé. We talked and…I told her about us.”

“You did?” A tingling warmth was spreading all over Obi-Wan, waking up his every nerve. 

A small grin flickered across Anakin’s face. “You don’t have to sound so surprised, you know. I said I wouldn’t change my mind.” 

“So you did.” The good-humoured lightness of before, the joy and hope their successful mission had created, it all flooded back; Obi-Wan swooped in to finally claim his kiss of victory. Anakin made a little breathless _oh_, clearly taken by surprise, but was soon enough kissing Obi-Wan back with admirable enthusiasm. Somehow, they ended up against the door, Anakin leaning back, while Obi-Wan pressed closer to him, hand snaking to caress his Padawan’s neck, hip making contact with Anakin’s. 

They broke the kiss only to draw breath, and Anakin exhaled a thready _wait_, just before Obi-Wan could seek his lips again. He paused, amazed anew how touching Anakin made all his rational thoughts and any sense of caution fly out the window. 

“I need to tell you something.” His Padawan sounded so grave, so anxious, that Obi-Wan tensed, waiting for some new calamity, news that would upend his world. In a way, he was right. 

Anakin’s eyes shone with the fervour of all he felt; Obi-Wan heard the words clearly even before they were said aloud. “_I love you_.” 

Anakin’s confession could hardly be a surprise at that point, and yet Obi-Wan found himself still struck by it straight to the heart. He wondered how something so good could hurt so much. There was only one way to answer him – with the truth. 

“And I – I love you.” Obi-Wan loved him with all he was and all he had; every dream, every wish, every thought of the future was threaded with that love, with Anakin’s name.

His Padawan looked stunned. Then his face brightened with a brilliant, teasing smile that never failed to lift Obi-Wan’s spirit. “Does this mean I don’t have to wait anymore?”

“Dearest, do shut up,” Obi-Wan deadpanned and cut Anakin’s joyous laughter off with kisses and more kisses, until all else but the glorious, heady feel of them together was completely forgotten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The dialogue in the first part is taken from the movie. I do have Matthew Stover’s book, but I must confess I have not read it yet – perhaps because I anticipate that reading it will _hurt_. Also, in this au Padmé knows she is expecting twins and Anakin notices her pregnancy almost immediately – because it just makes more sense to me :)


	18. Coruscant, part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it has taken me over a month to write this last chapter. I moved to a new apartment in a new neighborhood and that took some time. But now I am settled down and I can again focus on our silly boys. Please note that I changed the rating to explicit - just in case, because one scene may be a little explicit (blushes). In the end notes, I explain about the ending of this story and the start of the new one in this series. But before that, enjoy more mushy drama :)

Anakin was standing in the Great Hall. He was empty and hollow like a carved-up heart. The chamber was full of silent shadows; he avoided looking more closely at the dark shapes laying on the floor, their limbs askew, their disorderly and undignified state so at odds with the venerable solemnity of the great space.

Footsteps echoing in a rhythm of a march, he strode through the deserted Temple, its watchful walls following his every move with familiar reproach. Everything he had ever done, everything he was – every lie, every kill, every love – was inscribed on its surface for all to know.

_These are the deeds of the Chosen One. Son without a Mother. Knight without a Padawan. Husband without a Wife. Brother without a Brother. Father without Children. Man without a Love._

Guarding the secrets of the Jedi, the statues loomed above Anakin as he entered the Tower of First Knowledge. Yoda, Dooku, Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan and the unknown young man stared at Anakin with their unseeing stony gazes; the sixth statue was faceless, its features smashed to pieces. Without a second glance, he left the long-dead Jedi behind, glad to be rid of their suffocating silence.

As always, the large double doors stood open, waiting for him. In the middle of the room, the holocron floated above the pedestal, slowly turning round and round. Its cold white light mocked and beckoned; a promise of absolution, a threat of failure.

Inside the blinding light was time: infinite and fleeting, turning and twisting, the End and the Beginning. In a dark and dirty hovel, a slave was giving birth to a fatherless child. Jedi died and died and died again. A young man shook the hand of a boy, smiling. With wrathful glee, the order was given. Millions of planets, millions of wars. Marriage vows on a sunny veranda, slaughtered children. Chaos and death and birth. Clash of blades, red on blue, green on red, blue on blue. A man racing across a rockface, and falling and falling, whole universe crying. The water so cold, so dark. A confession of love. Flames. Fire and suffering.

A black stone, a promise. _Always. _

He reached forward, hands trembling.

“_Anakin_.” The familiar voice was only a hoarse whisper, but it made him pivot around, throat scraped raw from silent screams.

His Master was standing behind him, looking like a drowned man. Face leached of all colour, eyes sunken and mouth twisted in naked fear, in deep grief, in unfettered horror.

“I need more time,” Anakin beseeched him, heart writhing from the pain of the coming parting, mouth bitter from the taste of ash. “Don’t go.”

Obi-Wan shook his head. He looked right into Anakin, into the very deep, where every desperate need and festering ache, every dark deed and dead thing lived. “This will not happen. Anakin, this _cannot _happen.”

But it already had.

\--

The first light of the coming dawn peeked through the hastily closed blinds, delicate and pale, no match yet for the pervasive dimness of the room. The sparsely furnished space seemed almost formless, grey and black shapes merging seamlessly with darkness. Startling out of sleep, Obi-Wan was momentarily confused, even after he quickly realized there was no danger. He knew his room by heart, and there was nothing out of place; however, there was something new.

Someone was sleeping next to him. _Anakin_.

His Padawan was laying on his stomach, head turned away. Anakin’s left arm was pressed against Obi-Wan’s side, fingers curling around his hip possessively.

The last Obi-Wan remembered, they had been face to face, trading soft, languorous kisses. They had been too tired to do much else despite the frenzied way they had found their way into Obi-Wan’s bed, hurriedly stripping to their underwear, heady and excited with surging desire. He had set out on exploring every mark and scar on Anakin’s skin, wanting to trace the dips and crests of his lovely body, smooth the knob of bones. He had gotten as far as Anakin’s collarbone; Obi-Wan remembered kissing it thoroughly, looking forward to making his way downwards. His Padawan had been as eager to _touch_ – Obi-Wan’s skin still tingled with the memory of his curious, ardent caresses.

However, the long day – _the long war_ – had gotten the best of them, both equally exhausted to muster enough energy to take things any further; the heat between them had simmered down into a pleasant warmth, and that had been good too. Obi-Wan had quickly fallen into a deep, dreamless sleep in his love’s arms, Anakin following him only a heartbeat later. 

His Padawan was still asleep, but the peaceful rest had turned into one of his all too frequent nightmares. Anakin did not flail nor even twitch, his limbs were motionless like he had been petrified. What had no doubt woken Obi-Wan, was the despair and abject misery that flooded Anakin’s side of the bond, his distress keenly present in the Force around them, tugging relentlessly at Obi-Wan’s mind.

Or perhaps it had been the small, agonized whimper that escaped Anakin’s lips, the wordless sound somehow resembling a desperate plea.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan murmured, voice quiet although there wasn’t anyone else but his former Padawan to hear him. Perhaps it was because of the hour – dim and hushed, slowly it emerged from the visions of desire and terror towards hard, mundane reality.

Feather-light, he touched Anakin’s bare upper back, nudging him cautiously through their bond. They both had had too many rough awakenings by the enemy to attempt to shake the other awake – that was a familiar recipe for unnecessary violence and sheepish apologies.

With barely any outward sign, except the way his fingers tightened their hold on Obi-Wan’s hip, Anakin snapped awake. The Force quivered with his confused dread, contracted and swelled with a mesh of emotions as Anakin fought to bring his volatile feelings under control. Obi-Wan let him be; they lay silently for a long moment, Obi-Wan keeping his hand pressed gently against Anakin’s back, soothing the turbulent Force around them, trying to give him comfort with both physical and mental touch.

“Would you still love me, if I did something terrible again?” Anakin’s voice was barely audible, the words blending into darkness.

Obi-Wan frowned, staring at the back of his Padawan’s head. Beneath his hand, Anakin’s muscles were pulled taut like a bow drawn for the kill. “Why do you ask that?”

“Would you?” Anakin asked, louder now in his persistence. “If I made a mistake, if I disappointed you, if I –” He suddenly stopped, stricken mute by his own desperate fervour.

Obi-Wan swallowed heavily, words stuck on his too-dry throat. He knew the answer to all of those questions of course, because the answer was the same as every time before. _Yes, I would. I will. _

He rubbed at Anakin’s spine, fingertips drawing swirls and loops on his skin. “Anakin…no mistake will stop me from feeling what I feel for you. And if you disappoint me – which you perhaps will, as I undoubtedly will disappoint you – that will not change how I feel about you either.”

“But if I did something…horrible.” Anakin sounded ill; Obi-Wan wished he could see his former Padawan’s face, for Anakin’s expressions almost always filled the gaps between his words. He could only guess what had drawn forth the fear of new missteps, of the dark gaining ground again – of Anakin once more feeling uncertain about Obi-Wan’s affections.

“You will not,” Obi-Wan tried to assure him. “You have come such a long way already, grown so much in these months. You should believe in yourself – as _I believe_ in you.” But that did not seem to quieten the anxiousness in Anakin, nor relax his tense muscles. Obi-Wan sighed, shifting closer to his Padawan, so he could press a lingering kiss on the back of his neck. “What brought this on?”

“Just a dream,” Anakin confessed, the words bitter.

“What kind of dream?” Obi-Wan asked, not willing to make the same mistake as before. Anakin’s nightmares sometimes held seeds of the future, and although prophetic dreams were notoriously hard to predict – they could lead astray as well as act as warning signs – Obi-Wan had learned the hard way not to dismiss them, even if heeding them could bring about equally disastrous results. All he could really do was _listen_.

“I don’t know,” Anakin muttered, his tone laced with frustration, the vestiges of his earlier dread still apparent in the tightness of his voice. “It was a jumble of different things – I was…I was in the Holocron vault and something awful had happened…and I think…I think you were gone –” Breath hitching, Anakin’s fingers burrowed deeper into Obi-Wan’s hip, his grip bordering on painful.

“I’m right here,” Obi-Wan reminded him.

Finally, Anakin rolled around, coming to face Obi-Wan. The familiar contours of his face were drawn into solemn lines, his eyes twin pools of dark in the dim room, beseeching and persistent. “Don’t go. Promise me, Master. Don’t let the Council separate us again.”

Obi-Wan’s heart ached, wanting nothing so much as to make that vow and keep it. And yet he could not. “You know I cannot promise that. I have to go where I am needed.”

“_I need you_,” Anakin whispered, pushing Obi-Wan onto his back. Nose brushing the hollow of Obi-Wan’s throat, his lips sought the latest scar on Obi-Wan’s chest, courtesy of a lucky droid on Mimban.

“You have me,” Obi-Wan breathed against Anakin’s messy curls, one palm cupping the back of his head, the other sliding down the bare expanse of his back. “_I promise_, even when we are apart, you have me.” He shivered when Anakin placed kisses everywhere around his rib cage, starting to lick a path downwards.

“_I want you_.” Anakin’s voice was gravelly as his lips ghosted over Obi-Wan’s stomach, all of Obi-Wan’s skin suddenly flushed and tingling, too sensitive. His Padawan’s previous desperation had morphed into intense, impetuous passion, all of it directed at Obi-Wan – it made him dazed and flustered and aching, to be at that one, singular moment the focus of Anakin’s whole universe.

Enflamed by Anakin’s want, by his _own_ want, by the desire consuming their bond, Obi-Wan could only groan, “You have me. _You_ –”

Hands sweeping up and down Obi-Wan’s flanks, Anakin shifted downwards, setting his mouth against the junction of abdomen and thigh. Obi-Wan drew unsteady breaths as Anakin nuzzled his groin, the thin fabric of his underwear doing nothing to diminish the heat of his Padawan’s mouth.

“Can I?” Anakin whispered, fingers already holding Obi-Wan’s hips, keeping them firmly in place.

Obi-Wan lifted his head and shoulders, straining to distinguish Anakin’s face from the shadows. He wanted to see his Padawan – the expression on his face, the look in his eyes – but the dark only gave him the shape of Anakin’s head, the sharpness of his profile. He reached through their bond and was met with _certainty_, with _hunger_, with _reverence_. He had no defence against that flood of love-want-need.

“_Yes_,” Obi-Wan rasped, head tipping back. He didn’t need to see to _feel_ Anakin’s gaze on his throbbing erection. “Have you ever…?”

Anakin’s teeth nipped gently at Obi-Wan’s hip, tongue then darting to taste the bare skin of his thigh. “Hmm…a few times.”

There was no time to ponder Anakin’s revelation – all coherent thought fled Obi-Wan’s head in a mad rush, when his former Padawan put his mouth over the head of Obi-Wan’s cock, sucking lightly through the fabric. Obi-Wan, hardly a novice in bed, found himself trembling like a teenager with their first crush. All because it was _Anakin_. Anakin, who was easing the waistband of Obi-Wan’s underwear down, and curling a fist around his prick, giving it a confident squeeze. Anakin, who murmured appreciatively as he licked a stripe upward the swollen length, making Obi-Wan moan. Anakin, who sealed his lips over the head, and then slid Obi-Wan’s cock in his hot mouth.

Obi-Wan’s vision whitened, the furious beat of his heart rushing in his ears, and between the inarticulate sounds pulled from him, there were perhaps syllables of a name, a thready chant of _Anakin_, _Dearest_, _Love_ –

It was over mortifyingly quickly, but Obi-Wan could hardly muster any embarrassment; he simply felt too lethargic, too good, _too happy_. Trying to settle his uneven breathing, Obi-Wan slowly opened the eyes he hadn’t realized he had closed. Little tendrils of pleasure still lingered, coaxed by Anakin’s talented tongue which kept studiously licking Obi-Wan clean.

“_Anakin_.” Obi-Wan’s voice came out deep and rough, almost unrecognizable. “_Come here_.”

His Padawan didn’t need to be told twice; Anakin surged upward, sliding a leg over Obi-Wan’s hip, large frame straddling him. Obi-Wan grasped at Anakin’s hair, running his fingers between the damp strands, drawing his Padawan into a ravenous, messy kiss. Only a need for air separated them; Anakin gasped as he rocked forward, his hardness rubbing tantalizingly against Obi-Wan’s stomach. 

Obi-Wan had grand plans of taking Anakin’s cock into his hand, perhaps flipping them around and returning the favour. However, he was momentarily struck dumb by the small moans escaping Anakin’s mouth, the way Anakin’s head nestled so sweetly against his shoulder as he rutted his prick feverishly against Obi-Wan, and all he could do was hold onto Anakin, draw him closer, kiss his head, keep them both from flying apart –

As Anakin shuddered and panted, _stay with me_, Obi-Wan could only whisper, _I’m right here_.

He could not promise tomorrow; he could not even promise that coming day. But he did promise that very moment, when the dawn grew bigger and brighter, slowly turning the shadows, and them together with it, into pure light.

\--

As it turned out, those early morning hours were all they got to have. As the day started in earnest, their private oasis was breached, _others_ brusquely intruding into their togetherness.

The customary meetings and reports went in the usual way, albeit for once they were blessedly devoid of any bad news from the front. However, after that, the day quickly careened into a direction Obi-Wan, contrary to all the warning signs, still had not expected. Confirming all their misgivings, the Chancellor appointed Anakin as his personal representative to the Jedi Council. From there, it all went rapidly downhill, the Council and Anakin predictably at odds again, the conflict between them more serious, with more far-reaching consequences, than ever before.

Obi-Wan tried to keep the memory of that early morning – of them together – a steady, calm pocket of warmth on the back of his mind, a safe space where to retreat from the worry and hostility of the alarming situation. He fought to let go of the frustration and anger he felt as Palpatine once again exploited his friendship with Anakin to his own advantage, forcing the young man into an untenable position. Helplessly, he watched from his council seat as Anakin railed against imagined slights, despairing that his former Padawan still continued to stubbornly clung to resentment and pride.

And yet – Obi-Wan couldn’t help but feel that same resentment as he was forced to do the Council’s bidding, tasking Anakin to report on the Chancellor’s doings. It was no surprise that when Anakin heard the order to _spy_ on his old friend, he was upset and indignant and _hurt_; even more so, Obi-Wan knew, because the command came from him.

Anakin’s disappointed gaze, the acute betrayal on his face, was sharper than any blade; no amount of internal rationalization and pragmatism made Obi-Wan ache any less. Mad at himself, he let Anakin go, hoping that when they next met, he would have thought of the right words to say to mend things between them. However, the way the day had been going, he should have known how futile his wish was: the next time he was in the same room with Anakin again, it was in the Council Chamber.

Torn between wanting to finally chase Grievous down and anxious of doing so _alone_, of leaving Anakin behind, Obi-Wan could only acquiesce to the Council’s decision to send him to Utapau, knowing that it would be pointless to advocate for Anakin to be included in the mission. Requesting that Anakin lead the campaign to catch Grievous, the Chancellor had only achieved the very opposite: the Council would not make any concessions to Palpatine voluntarily any time soon. His Padawan’s quiet displeasure and annoyance at the outcome seemed to draw all the air from the room, no doubt confirming to the rest of the Council that they had made the correct decision. Obi-Wan however, felt those glowing, perfect early hours of the morning slip even further away from.

But to his relief – and shame – Obi-Wan found out that he had truly underestimated Anakin. His former apprentice did not rush to sulk in his quarters nor did he vanish into Coruscant’s lower levels, as he had so many times before in similar circumstances; instead, he chose to accompany Obi-Wan to the shipyards.

Yet, it seemed the right words continued to elude them both, the quiet like an invisible wall between them. It was only in sight of the _Vigilance’s_ boarding ramp, their parting suddenly all too near, when the silence was broken. It was again Anakin, who dared to take the first leap.

“You’re going to need me on this one, Master.” Anakin sounded resigned, the undercurrent of simmering anger having finally left him, his posture and voice subdued.

“Oh, I agree. However, it may turn out just to be a wild bantha chase,” Obi-Wan said, lacking the ease he tried to inject into his casual words.

“Master.” Anakin came to a sudden halt, looking uncommonly solemn. “I’ve disappointed you. I haven’t been very appreciative of your training. I’ve been arrogant, and I apologize. I’ve just been so frustrated with the Council.”

The words were a deviation from the old norm, and not just because of their almost formal nature: Obi-Wan listened with growing pleasure and pride as Anakin acknowledged some of the pressure points that had plagued his apprenticeship, and had continued to rear their ugly head sporadically after his knighting too – case in point that very day.

Obi-Wan smiled, the right words finally coming to him. “You are strong and wise Anakin, and I am very proud of you. I have taught you everything I know, and you have become a far greater Jedi than I could ever hope to be.”

Clearly pleased, Anakin’s gaze darted almost shyly to the ground. The small, sincere smile spreading across his face warmed Obi-Wan to the core.

“But be patient, Anakin,” Obi-Wan had to add, hoping his words would be heeded. “It will not be long before the Council makes you a Jedi Master.”

Still smiling, Anakin nodded – and just like that the breach Palpatine’s and the Council’s actions had started to open up between friends, between lovers, between the Master and the Apprentice, was mended. All that remained was to say goodbye.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan began, regretting that he had been a fool to leave their parting words to such a public space – in full view of everyone happening to pass by, they could not chance even a single kiss in that part of the busy shipyards. The best he could do was to take a step closer and lay his hand gently on Anakin’s shoulder. “Remember my promise.”

_Even when we are apart, you have me. However far away, I’m with you. _

Anakin’s smile dimmed, his expression already shadowed by the weight of longing. “Just come back.” He suddenly grinned with feigned mirth, continuing, “Preferably in one piece.”

_Stay with me. Please._

Obi-Wan drew Anakin into an all-too-fleeting embrace, daring to press a soft kiss to his brow. Afraid he truly could not leave, if he lingered any longer, Obi-Wan let go and started to stride purposefully down the boarding ramp. The sooner he caught Grievous, the quicker he would be back home.

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin called after him. “May the Force be with you.”

Obi-Wan turned back to look at Anakin, committing that image of his dearest friend – his love – to memory. The bright blue eyes, full of feeling _for_ Obi-Wan; the soft smile, bravely held _for_ Obi-Wan; the love pulsing through their bond _for_ Obi-Wan. As always, it felt incredible that all of it was for him. He could only hope to someday deserve it.

“Goodbye, old friend. May the Force be with you.”

Force willing, this goodbye would be the last of its kind. Grievous dealt with, there was a real chance the war could be over soon. With hope, peace. With peace, their future – together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry! Anakin's and Obi-Wan's story will continue in the next tale in this series. When I started to write _Uncharted_ I always knew I would end it with the Goodbye scene from ROTS. The next story will continue with the events from the ROTS, but this time, things will go a little differently...I have planned the next story out and will start to write it soon, so hopefully I can publish the first chapter next month. Heartfelt thanks to all of you, who have faithfully read this story :)


End file.
